


Moment By Moment

by thwax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-04
Updated: 2005-09-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:51:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 79
Words: 395,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thwax/pseuds/thwax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This story was written between the publication of Order of the Phoenix and Half-Blood Prince.</i>
</p>
<p>Voldemort and his followers have won the war.  The Dark Lord rules Britain and those who oppose him are scattered, some in exile in the USA, and others underground in their own country.  Harry Potter is one of those for whom America has become a home, that is until his nemesis is given a promise by those who represent authority for the exiled Britons.  The promise will lead Harry into more than he could ever have expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Demands of Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader. It grew from an idea that I thought might take a few thousand words (go figure)!

Harry stormed down the corridor to Percy's office, steam almost coming out of his ears: he had told that bloody bunch of bureaucrats no more public appearances, no more smiles for 'the good of morale', no more pretending. Yet here it was, another summons from his personal assistant, the dependable Percy Weasley, bearer of all pleas from the great and cowardly Minister Fudge. How that man had retained his position since the exile, Harry didn't know, he had practically handed Britain over to Voldemort through his sheer ineptitude at running a war. If it hadn't been for people like Albus Dumbledore, Merlin rest his soul, and Amelia Bones, there wouldn't have been any hope of the resistance that was still fighting for freedom.

His old mentor's face in his mind, Harry cursed the disasters that had led to Albus' death and resolved, once more, to refuse whatever the Ministry in Exile had in mind for him this time. Propaganda was all very well, but there was only so far they could push the British wizarding community that had made it to the safety of America; Harry wondered what it would be this time: we need your galleons to fund another committee to sit down and discuss this exile problem. Discuss, discuss, discuss, it was all the Ministry did, that and try to placate the mighty Dark Lord who was destroying the Wizarding world in Britain as anyone had known it.

The young Auror stormed straight into Percy's office, brandishing aloft the note which had requested his presence, ready to yell his disgust at the only bureaucrat with the courage to face him.

"What the bloody hell do you want?!" he demanded as Percy leapt out of his seat like he'd been shot. He leant over the desk and fixed his anxious-looking friend to the spot as he complained some more; "I was in the middle of a training group with the new recruits: what's so bloody urgent that I have to abandon them to Perkins's incompetence?!"

Harry knew he was swearing at Percy too much these days, but anything to do with the Ministry made him mad. This was just how it was now: he would vent at his safe official, Percy would cajole and persuade and no-one bandied around words like 'suspension' or 'dismissal'. No-one else saw this face, the frustrated, opinionated young man, only Percy, and he was usually good at placating him, making deals, smoothing the waters, and not reporting Harry's expletives to his seniors. Harry was expecting Percy's normal long-suffering, nervous smile. Yet it wasn't there. Percy looked back at Harry, his eyes wider than normal, and his mouth a thin, unhappy line. Harry's temper faded immediately, and he asked with more concern, but no less suspicion, "Percy, what's wrong?"

There was silence for a moment, until Harry stood back from the desk, and then Percy began, "Auror Potter, Minister Fudge has asked me to speak with you on a matter of the gravest urgency."

The young man scowled again: if he was hiding behind formality, Percy was really upset about something.

"Cut the crap, Percy," Harry snarled, recognising the slight American twang in his voice he had picked up from the local Quidditch team he now played with.

"You are aware that the Ministry have been in negotiations with Lord Voldemort's regime?"

"They've been in talks for three years, so what?"

Percy sat down, a little too fast not to worry Harry some more: he didn't particularly like Percy, but in her letters, Molly had asked Harry to look after her son, and since they had both already lost her youngest son, he felt obliged to care about the only Weasley he had seen since the exile had begun. As he thought of Ron, the man with whom he had fought side by side in too many battles to count, he saw the shadow of buoyant red-head in his brother: his conscience piqued, and he backed off some more, sitting down as well.

"What's going on?" he asked with less hostility.

"The negotiations recently have been over the problem of the Muggle-borns in Azkaban," Percy brought up the Dark Lord's policy which had had Harry worrying about Hermione since the time it had been introduced.

"Hermione?" he worded his concern; Hermione had lived with the slim immunity of being a pure-blood's widow, and the mother of his children, since Voldemort's plans had been put into action in Britain. The idea that her protection had finally failed had been a worry to Harry since the day she had refused to leave Britain for the safety of America.

"Hermione and the girls are fine, as far as I know," his companion reassured him, at least in words, although Percy's face said otherwise as he continued, "This is about getting the Muggle-borns released and transported to us on the compound."

"They managed to close that kind of deal?" Harry was incredulous; the Ministry had had no such successes before, Voldemort had only afforded 'the runaways', as he had labelled them, his contempt.

"The Dark Lord expressed his wish to be rid of the burden of maintaining them. There is an over-crowding problem in Azkaban and he has other prisoners he wishes to house there;" Percy sounded like he was going to be sick and Harry's worry went up a few levels. "His people made some very specific demands, which the Ministry has deemed acceptable in view of the many lives it will save."

Percy paused and struggled to meet Harry's gaze. The young man did not want to ask, but there was a block in his companion's gaze which told him Percy was not going to continue unless prompted.

"What demands?" he asked flatly.

"The Dark Lord requested the return of an item to Britain which the Department of Mysteries brought with it. I don't know what it is, but as I said, the risk of returning it has been weighed against the lives that so doing will save," Percy looked away, his eyes dancing round the room, and he sighed as he finished, "The Ministry has also agreed to you delivering it."

Harry stood up very fast, his whole body going cold, but he just froze, glaring at Percy as all the implications of such an agreement hit him at once. Percy's gaze came back to him, and the look said that the man knew he was condemning his friend to death. Harry Potter, personal enemy of Voldemort, had an unspoken death sentence waiting for him if he set foot back on British soil. That was why the Ministry had worked so hard to make sure their propaganda weapon could not slip back and join the resistance fight.

"I have your orders here," Percy continued, laying his hand on a folded piece of parchment containing the official seal of the Ministry: his voice was wavering.

"Signed by Fudge, no doubt," Harry growled and his anger went straight for the coward who had ratified his sacrifice. "Didn't he even have the courage to tell me himself?"

Percy looked even sicker at that accusation, and for the first time, Harry thought he saw the up-and-coming official's adoration of the glorious Minister of Magic waver.

"What did he tell himself would happen? That I'd just pop this item, whatever it is, on old Voldie's desk, and then hop back here?"

"I don't know," his friend focused on the parchment as he picked it up. "He had it owled here."

Harry laughed: he couldn't quite believe the gall of the man. The compound the Americans had given the exiles to live on was not more than a mile across, and the administration buildings were all set around a small square. Fudge's office was two minutes from the lowlier one he had assigned his protégé and the fact that he had avoided even his own errand boy spoke volumes for the denial the man was so good at cultivating.

"So I'm supposed to just accept these orders?" Harry had to check.

Percy stood up and held out the paper, his tone agitated as he answered, "I'm meant to tell you that you are an Auror of the British people, and hence -"

"And hence, I must do what is best for my country," Harry scoffed, (it was a familiar old stick Fudge used to beat him with every time he dissented: his license to be an Auror was the only thing these bastards could hold over him, he didn't want to lose it, only now things had gone so much further than pompous threats).

Harry took the parchment: the equation was simple, his life for hundreds, maybe thousands (no-one knew quite how many wizards and witches had been thrown in Azkaban since the Death Eaters had taken over).

"I'm sorry, Harry," Percy was very white as he did what no-one else would.

"When do I leave?" the Auror gritted his teeth as he asked.

"It's all in the orders: you are to put on your dress robes and report to Meeting Room 4a for eleven hundred hours."

Harry turned on his heel and headed to the door. Yet Percy wasn't finished, and as he opened the door, his task-master told Harry, "And tell no-one."

The young man didn't look back, he was angry and scared and he wanted to scream, but the bastards had even made sure he couldn't do that. 'Tell no-one', meant 'don't tell Remus'. The head of the Order of the Phoenix since Albus' death, was on base during one of his regular clandestine trips, not to speak with the Ministry (they did not officially recognise the Order), but to organise support none-the-less. He was one of the few people from home with whom Harry had contact, and although their conversations stuck mainly to trivia due to the walls having ears, especially around Harry Potter, he was a confidant upon whom the much used, Boy Who Lived, relied. Denying him even that displayed the cold-blooded calculations that had to have gone behind his orders: they knew full well what they were doing and they wanted no dissention.

* * *

Once he was out of the administration building, Harry slowed a pace that had been inspired by the wish to put as much distance between himself and the bureaucrats as possible. Out in the open, away from the back-stabbing bastards, he took the time to look around at the place he had called home for three years. He hadn't wanted to stay here, in the early days he had fought hard to get away, but they had worn him down with their reasonable arguments, and his grief at the loss of his home and friends had had to take a different direction.

He had been making do, like everyone else in exile, and he had accepted this little piece of officially British soil as his new home for however long it took to get the other one back. He'd been told so many times by this official and that bureaucrat that his presence in Britain would only put the resistance in danger that he had almost begun to believe it, and the fact that he was to be going home was a shock to his system in itself. The part of him that had not gone into denial about his homeland was causing his stomach to churn and the rest of him was in shock.

Harry came to a halt in the middle of Ministry Plaza, and caught out of the corner of his eye one of his regular shadows coming to a halt as well: he grimaced, he hated being followed by his paranoid employers. Did they think he was going to bolt when so much was at stake? He ignored his watcher rather than yelling: he really felt like yelling and it was very difficult to stop himself, especially when he looked up at the monument which listed the dead and those missing in action and thought about his name joining the ever changing role of honour. He tried not to read the name that appeared at the bottom as he watched, concentrating instead on the way the names rearranged and resized themselves to make room for their comrade. He failed, but it wasn't a name he knew: still, Harry spun on his heel and carried on his way before the chills running up and down his spine grew any worse.

He had trained people to go undercover for three years, the most he had been allowed to do for the war effort, and he was not scared of combat, he had spent two years fighting before the last battle at Hogwarts had been lost, but he was being asked to walk into the hands of his nemesis and the prophecy hung heavy in Harry's thought. It looked like Trelawney's prediction was about to come to fruition with himself as the loser. Harry didn't try to sort out the mess of thoughts and feelings in his head, worried what he might discover, instead he tried to ignore his thundering heart and get on with what needed to be done.

* * *

His room wasn't much, but Harry called it home. It was full of junk and the walls were covered in what communications he had managed with the survivors in Britain. Remus sometimes carried letters and parcels in both directions, and the postcards from Tonks and the drawings from the twins that Hermione had sent in her letters were all over the place: he had never met Aithne nor Imogen, the red-headed daughters of his best-friends, but he loved their colourful scribblings. Needing something warm, Harry went over and ran his fingers over one crumpled piece of paper that, according to Hermione's explanation, showed Grandpa Arthur in his rocking chair. It looked more like a mutant cow to Harry, but he smiled sadly as he realised he would now probably never get to meet Ron's legacy to the world.

Harry glanced up at the clock on the wall: he had half an hour to prepare himself for whatever fate Voldemort wished. Reluctantly, he dropped the orders on the bed, he didn't need to read them, gathered up his wash things and headed out into the corridor to the shower room. However, he had barely set foot in the hallway when he heard the caustic voice of Severus Snape call, "Potter, where have you been? How could you leave that incompetent, Perkins, in charge, he nearly decapitated one of the recruits?!"

Harry looked up at the only other Order member with whom he had had the misfortune to be exiled: Severus Snape had been revealed as a spy shortly before everything had come tumbling down, and he'd been grumpy about it and taken it out on his favourite whipping boy for the last three years.

"At least we agree on something," Harry muttered to himself as he thought about Perkins, the Ministry appointed sycophant, cocking up another practice. However, he was in no mood for a sparring match with Severus, so he replied at audible levels, "I don't have time for this, Severus, I have orders for eleven am, I have to get ready."

"What, another shop to open?" Snape asked with a sneer in his voice, but the rest of his tone said he'd read Harry's body language.

"No, can't talk about it," Harry snapped back, rather more sharply than he would have liked. He didn't want to open himself to any of Snape's quips; he was feeling too vulnerable not to snap.

Severus frowned, but thankfully did not go for the jugular. The respite made Harry risk something he would not normally have asked of his verbal sparring partner, but now was definitely not normal, and so he requested, "Can you say goodbye to Remus for me, please, I'm not going to get the chance."

That raised even more suspicions behind Snape's eyes. Harry turned away before he revealed more than he wanted to.

"Goodbye, Severus," he finished and headed to the shower.

* * *

Meeting Room 4a was one of the conference rooms in the main Ministerial building, and Harry stood in front of its impressive double doors while he straightened his dress robes. He'd only worn these once before, the passing out parade from the accelerated Auror training he and Ron had undergone after leaving Hogwarts, and they felt heavy and stuffy compared to the simple grey work robes they had him wear when teaching non-physical classes or making minor public appearances. The showiness of the situation had not passed Harry by, and it annoyed him. He was going to deliver some unknown item to a madman, it was no time for dressing like he was going to a Ministerial cocktail party. He'd read his orders in the end, a mixture of official bluster about duty and the greater good and an attempt at ego-stroking, but they had at least divulged that there was some kind of grand presentation ceremony organised where the New Order could show off their prizes.

Being paraded round like a trophy hit all the wrong buttons in Harry, and the only thing with which he could cover his fear was the rage he had been cultivating at the injustice of it all. He was therefore scowling heavily when, after a sharp rap, he was called into the room. The place was, unsurprisingly, occupied by several gaggles of officials he recognised. They were dotted around the room in twos and threes, all except for a larger group which stood at the far end of a long, highly-polished conference table; every eye was on Harry.

Some of them looked like they felt sorry for him: Harry ignored them. Others just looked scared, and those, the young man paused upon, one by one, making them feel every nuance of the ire he held silently inside. Finally, Harry's gaze came to rest upon the man he despised the most; Fudge was stood in the middle of his protectors, and his face was white. He tried to smile, the same sickly politician's grin that he always wore, but it failed him, coming off only half-formed as he greeted, "Thank you for coming, Auror Potter."

The officiousness of the address broke every restraint Harry possessed, and he saw red. Imminent death could be very liberating, and no license could now hold Harry back from the storm that had taken three years to build.

"Don't 'Auror Potter' me, Fudge," he growled, stalking up the length of the table in the wake of scattering bureaucrats, "you only do that when you're scared I'll say no, and we're beyond that now, don't you think?"

None of the Minister's cronies showed any courage when faced with the enraged Auror, and Fudge was left undefended, opening and closing his mouth as if he didn't know whether to answer Harry's question. The young man bore down on his quarry, who took some rapid steps backwards and he just kept on going, forcing their confrontation into the fireplace. If Fudge had not reached out and hung onto the high mantel shelf, he would have ended up in the ashes.

"You're pathetic. You get everyone else to do your dirty work," Harry loomed over his cowering adversary and began a tirade from which he had always backed off before. "You are as evil as Voldemort, and twice as dangerous, because you seem to think you're doing things for the greater good. If it hadn't been for your sheer incompetence and cowardice, we would not have lost England, let alone Scotland and we would still be on home soil. That role of honour out there is down to you, just you. If I survive this suicide attempt you've organised for me, I will personally see to it that your only mention in history will read, 'A pompous little man who brought our world to ruin'!"

Harry pinned his subjugate down with his glare for a while longer, but looking at the quivering little man was just making him feel sick, so once his point was made, he turned away from his condemner and picked the nearest official. That man froze as well, like a deer caught in headlights, and at least pleased with the impression he had made, Harry decided to get on with what was required.

"Right then, where's this mysterious package you have me delivering?" he demanded, trying to hide any quavers in his voice as he thought about his deadly errand.

The tall, thin man, whom Harry thought was called Tibias, seemed more than a little relieved not to have been attacked, but, still openly nervous, turned to the end of the table and pointed out a wooden box. It wasn't a very impressive box, only about fifteen centimetres square and the same again tall, tatty at the edges and pitted all over, from what Harry supposed was age, but it had been polished recently.

"What's in it?" he asked, walking up to it and running his fingers over the surface that closer inspection revealed had to be ancient.

"We have been instructed not to tell you," Tibias shrank a few inches as Harry glared at him for that little revelation.

"Another part of the deal?" Harry snarled at him, disliking the conditions of the exchange less and less.

Tibias just nodded and backed away hurriedly. The condemned wizard ignored the rest of the room then and went back to looking at the box: where his fingers stroked the pock-marked surface. He could feel magic running through the wood, it had to be powerful magic for his meagre sensitivities to pick it up, and he wondered what kind of risk Fudge had decided the wizarding world could afford this time. The man seemed to have no concept that Voldemort was not going to be content with Wizarding Britain for much longer: it was his power base, but soon he would be confident enough to go after the Muggles who had no idea of his threat, and then the world would be next. This concealed item was obviously important to the Dark Lord, or he would never have agreed to release the Muggle-borns, against whom his vendetta had been very personal. Yet Harry's tirade had run dry in only a few words, replaced by the worries and fears he could not hold back, and so he remained silent, letting the room settle down and await whatever was to come next.

Harry was not so interested in the box that he failed to notice when the double doors swung in once more. He saw the purple and black of the New Order's robes before he took in the hard faces of two Death Eaters. They clearly knew who he was, because their attentions ran him up and down, and two sides looked at each other from either end of the table.

"Gentlemen," Fudge had recovered himself and he greeted the two new arrivals like he was meeting people at a state banquet.

He moved down the room and held out his hand to the nearest man.

"Is everything ready?" was the only reply, and Fudge came to a halt not really knowing what to the do with his offered hand as it was not taken.

"Yes, everything is ready," one of Fudge's lackies rescued the Minister and led the two men towards Harry as he continued, "the box has been protected as requested, it may only be passed from Auror Potter to Governor General Malfoy."

Harry gritted his teeth at the mention of his second-best nemesis: Lucius Malfoy was the public face of Voldemort's regime, as the Dark Lord had proven reclusive, and he had never forgotten the night when the running battle at the Ministry of Mysteries had seen him locked up in Azkaban for the following three years until a breakout that had killed half the prison staff.

The second Death Eater, who did not seem to have the authority to speak, was still eyeing Harry suspiciously, and Harry glared back at him, resting his hand protectively on the box: he may have been heading, at best, for the very prison from which he was releasing others, but for now he had a job to do, and he was damned if he was going to show weakness to his enemies.

"The Department of Corrections will be in touch as regards the Mudbloods," the next disclosure was delivered with relish and caused a gasp to run through the room: the Death Eater glanced round at shocked faces, not even batting an eyelid at the insult and the man's indifference hammered home to Harry the dramatic changes to which he would be returning.

In defence of what courage he had left, Harry picked up the box and drew his escorts' attention with, "Shall we go?"

The senior man smiled superiorly at him, and Harry raised his chin defying the inevitable control this enemy was going to have over him. His defiance was rewarded with the smile disappearing and eyes narrowing on him, and Harry ticked off one minor victory, since he didn't think he was going to get many of them.

"Very well," came the agreement and Harry found himself flanked by the two Death Eaters.

They drew their wands and a few cowering bureaucrats took steps backwards. Harry just held the box in front of him and concentrated on it, trying not to think about the surrender he was making by just letting his adversaries take him where they wanted. The leader placed something plain and dark on the end of the table where the box had been and tapped it with his wand, but Harry kept staring at his charge and held in the instinct to fight. He steeled his shoulders as a hand either side took hold of his arms and then he did watch as each escort reached out for the shapeless thing that was quite clearly a port key. Everything slowed down as the young man's last look at exile was a reflection of the state room in the patina of the long table. Then the world began to fade.

Harry struggled with instincts that told him to hit out, to draw his wand and fight as he remembered another time he had been dragged to his enemy with a port key. He was an Auror, he had fought for freedom, and now he was just giving it up on the say so of a group of incompetent, corrupt officials: he couldn't quite believe what he was doing. Yet, as he held his feelings back, the disappearing world sent Harry a message. His gaze snapped up from the table as he heard the doors slam open and an enraged cry came at him, "No!"

Remus and Severus were stood in the doorway, wands draw and magic came directly at Harry, but it was too late, the magic passed through his dissolving presence, and the image of his friend's aghast face was the last thing the young man saw before the world disappeared completely. That look was enough to upset any equilibrium in Harry, and as another, darker world came into focus, he shoved away his escorts and took a step backwards. They spun on him, and levelled their already drawn wands.

"Stand still, Potter," the order came.

Harry considered dropping the box and going for his own weapon, but it was a nonsense notion, and the thought lasted only a moment: he was outnumbered, in an unknown location, and, as much as he would have liked to take on his adversaries and blast some respect into them, the item he was holding was more precious to more people than his life. Harry relaxed, and the confident smile was back on his escort's face.

"Good, now, put the box on the table, there," his opponent ordered, indicating sideways with the end of his wand.

Harry did as he was told, the fight seeping out of him as Remus' face was replaced with this new reality.

"Excutio!" came at him before he could turn fully back to his guards, and the surprise of the search-magic made the young man complain as he felt his wand slip from the safety of his sleeve.

Yet the whine in his throat was all he allowed himself as the carefully tended holly fell to the floor and rolled away.

"Is this all you have?" the Death Eater was resisting no urges and taunted Harry openly.

"It's all I need," the Auror quipped back and lifted his chin again.

"Not anymore," his escort laughed this time, as the subordinate picked up the wand. "You will wait here until we are ready for you."

With that, the two men, confident in their victory, turned their backs on their prisoner and walked out of the door. The sound of the key turning in the lock finalised the deal that had been made for him, and Harry stuck his nails into his palms to try and stop the shiver that ran down his spine.

* * *

Pacing was not the most productive of pastimes, but it stopped Harry from going stir crazy. They'd left him in the isolated ante-chamber what had to have been hours ago, and his illogical brain was beginning to wonder if this was an oubliette. Without his wand, Harry was trying to stem feelings of complete vulnerability. He was beyond the point of no return; his life was now forfeit, but at least with a wand, Harry mourned, he might have been able to influence the way in which he exited this world. As if in reminder of the danger he was now in, Harry's scar throbbed mercilessly: this whole place was infused with Voldemort and it made the young man feel sick. Yet, the only thing he could now do was to deliver the package to Lucius with dignity, and he was even being hampered in that by a different breed of bureaucrats to those who had condemned him in the first place. Hence, he was wearing a hole in the floor, and had been doing so for an indeterminate amount of time.

Harry had been pacing for so long, that when his routine was interrupted, it startled him. The wizard spun round towards the sound of the door opening, and rapidly placed his hand protectively on the box, which was still sat on the table. He was not expecting the face which appeared around the door panel; Hermione Weasley, tall, elegant, but thinner than she should have been, and her lovely hair was drawn severely into a bun at the back of her head. Harry couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. He'd known she was working for the New Order, Remus had not held that back, but actually looking at his one time confidante wearing the black and purple robes made less sense than things had minutes before.

The young woman closed the door behind her, but hovered close to it, disquiet showing in her grey features. Harry knew his stance must have appeared hostile, but his own nerves, coupled with the shock of a friend in wolf's clothing froze him in position.

"Hello, Harry," at last Hermione broke the awkward silence.

"Hermione," he answered quietly, and then had to ask, "I..."

"It's a shock isn't it, I didn't quite believe it myself for a while," the subdued woman finished, and Harry felt grief for the once proud personality reduced to serving the enemy. "It was the safest way of staying alive, I made myself too useful to be disappeared."

"But why?" the young man couldn't help himself, his aversion to the idea came through his tone.

"I work for the Minister of Information," his companion replied, "he listens to what I have to say, and at least here I can possibly do some good."

The answer didn't ring with much conviction. The Minister of Information was known in the free world as Propaganda Persius, and Harry wondered how his honourable friend could sleep at night knowing some of the lies that she must help to concoct. He kept that thought to himself, and asked more practically, "Why are you here?"

"Oh, Harry!" emotion suddenly appeared in Hermione's deep eyes, and she took a rapid few steps forward; Harry tensed, anxiety making him jumpy, and then regretted it, as his companion halted her approach, grief coming out in clenched fists, as she continued, "Harry, has three years changed us so much? We used to be friends. I couldn't not come."

The Auror's heart broke at the first honest, unguarded admission. Releasing his charge for just a minute, Harry closed the remaining distance between them, and wrapped Hermione in his arms. He couldn't find anything to say, he just breathed away a sigh as an almost desperate embrace was returned. They held like that, in sincere silence, until Hermione moved. Harry relaxed a little and stepped away, looking for her gaze once more. He found it, tired, and damp, but no tears were flowing. He admired the strength he now recognised in it, and smiled weakly in reassurance.

"How are you?" he began again, pushing aside the future for the moment.

"Surviving," came back, matter-of-factly, "Living with Arthur and Molly works out for all of us, they take care of the twins for me, and they need the rent since Arthur was excluded from the New Ministry."

Harry just nodded, he wasn't supposed to comment; he had heard those facts from Remus as well. Arthur Weasley had never struck him as the type to tow the line, even of a dangerously vindictive regime, and his love of Muggles must have made him many enemies. Still, he was glad that Hermione had her Parents-In-Law for support: she had not been able to talk to her own parents since the war had been lost, for fear of endangering them. No-one had known that the newly married couple were pregnant until after Ron had been pronounced missing in action, and Harry could only imagine what it must have been like for his friend in those dark days. He regretted not having been there: it was one more thing he could blame 'the good guys' for, and now he had little time to make up for it.

"Do you hear from the others much?" he asked, carefully avoiding names as he realised he didn't necessarily know who was still alive.

Hermione nodded, with the ghost of a smile and replied, "Fred and George are doing well with the joke shop. They're both married now, did you know?"

Harry nodded.

"I see Neville sometimes, he works at the hospital, he's a good healer. And you?"

Harry shrugged and turned away, his fingers running back over the dark wood of his mission.

"Percy is doing well," he began with the easy information, "if he'd known I was going to see you I'm sure he would have sent a message. Remus and Severus are the only two other contacts I have with the old group."

"How do you put up with old Snape?" Hermione thought she picked the path with the least thorns as well.

Harry laughed haltingly, trying to hide the pang of anger he still harboured for his ex-teacher, and admitted, "We don't get on much. We tolerate each other's company for the sake of a little touch with the old world," he gestured around. "It's been frustrating just sitting on our arses and having to watch. I think he wants to join Remus on his daring dos, but Fudge won't hear of it. One of these days he's going to just stop listening to those bloody bureaucrats."

"Some things never change," the young woman sighed, and Harry glanced back at her; her face showed a mixture of wistful remembrance and anxiety. Impulsively he reached out and rubbed her arm supportively. She blinked up at him, as though she had forgotten he was there for a moment. Her sincerity hit him like a wall as she told him, "It is good to see you, Harry."

"I'm glad you're here," he returned with equal depth, unable to stifle the pangs of regret any more.

His companion's eyes misted again as she stared directly into his, and her next disclosure came in a fervent whisper. "Run Harry, get out of here while you still can. I can get you to the door."

Sadly, the young wizard shook his head, and backed off again in defence of his own resolve. Hermione followed him, almost pleading as she objected, "You've done as they asked, you've delivered that thing, whatever it is, now go!"

"That's not what Voldemort wants," Harry countered quietly, and he saw all the fight evaporate from his friend.

The unspoken truth hung in the air between them and at that moment, the vulnerability in the condemned man wished things could have been different. Then he wanted to take Hermione in his arms and tell her it was alright, that things would be better soon, but they wouldn't. He'd never told anyone about the Prophecy, only old Dumbledore had shared his secret, but now it looked like it was coming true with him as the victim.

"You'd better leave," he advised with a calm on the outside that he didn't feel within; it was the old separateness he experienced when he thought of that horrendous night when Sirius had died and he had been told everything. Pushing that thought aside, he continued, "They'll be back soon."

He stamped on his emotions as his companion merely nodded acknowledgement.

"Goodbye," her words came out in a thin murmur.

Harry just stared, and hoped his eyes said what he couldn't bring himself to say. Hermione nodded at him again, and he hoped that meant she understood, and then she fled. As the door closed, Harry turned resolutely back to the innocuous wooden casket on the desk and picked it up.  



	2. Harsh Lessons

There were some constants in the wizarding world, and Harry stared boldly into the face of one of them. Lucius Malfoy, all that was bad about magic, cold, arrogant and merciless, stood on the steps of a dais at the other end of the room, waiting to greet his adversary. Harry had to admit that he looked impressive in the finery of ceremonial robes, all sable and purple satin. Malfoy had been appointed head of the New Order by a master who was now conspicuous by his absence. Voldemort was alive, his touch could be seen and felt throughout the now isolated part of the wizarding world, but no-one had seen him since the early days of the regime.

Lucius' robes contrasted dramatically with his almost white hair: he did make quite a sight. However, for Harry, nothing could mask the dark places to which this man had gone in his search for power, their touch hooded Malfoy's eyes and left him with a permanent sneer.

No expense had been spared for the arrival of the nameless item which held so many lives in the balance, and as its bearer, Harry was led between the ranks of the Death Eater government, flanked by the two Death Eaters who had never seen fit to introduce themselves. The pressed robes and preened bodies of their Highday best all felt vaguely absurd to Harry as his fate loomed heavy before him. It didn't matter how dressed up everything was, it still all meant only one thing, he was going to die, sooner or later, and, as he soaked up the hostility that was being aimed in his direction from either side of the aisle of faces, he hoped it would be sooner.

Harry locked gazes with Malfoy in an attempt to ignore the cold stares elsewhere. The Governor General's gaze was anything but cold, it held personal hatreds against which Harry had defences, and he raised every one he had. The nasty, surreal game Fudge and Voldemort had orchestrated for him was almost over, and Harry knew he was going to lose, but right at that moment, he could win a small victory. He stared down one of his oldest personal enemies, the man he had seen thrown into Azkaban, the man who had been behind many plots to dispose of The Boy Who Lived, the man whose whim could now see him dead or alive.

The focus worked, and Harry was barely aware of the hundreds of pairs of eyes that were on him as he processed down the hall with the ransom held out before him. Hatred was not merely the domain of his enemies, and it burnt inside him as he faced the destructor of all that he had held dear. Ron was gone, Albus, even Minerva and countless others, and he could place all of it at the feet of Lucius Malfoy, the Dark Lord in absentia. Harry hid none of it; as he stopped in front of the dais, he lifted chin one more time and glowered.

There had been music playing, something dramatic, but Harry only noticed it as it stopped, leaving shuffling silence behind him. He stood tall and showed his contempt of the pomp before him. Yet victory was snatched away from him in the blink of an eye, Lucius' eye, as the Governor General broke the protection of hatred and gazed over Harry's head to those beyond. Harry tried to hang on to the seething anger, but without his focus, it evaporated, leaving him feeling strange and a little lost. He glanced down at the polished box in his hands, wondering why he was holding it, and for a moment, the reason escaped him.

"Friends, welcome," Lucius announced, and Harry remembered.

The young man controlled a shudder that reality created and gripped the box so tightly his knuckles went white. Harry didn't hear what came next as fear decided to encroach on his world and threatened to bring panic with it. Everything had happened so fast it had been almost dreamlike: from freedom to this in little more than minutes, and the young man began to recognise that the shock of it all had protected him from this actuality and his situation finally sunk fully in. He had walked right in to sign his own death warrant, because a jumped up little man had told him to, but he didn't want to die. He glanced back up at his executioner, and all the foppery made him feel sick.

Lucius was still talking, but Harry couldn't hear the words for all the blood that was rushing through his ears. He watched the man's mouth move, the creases at the corners where Malfoy's smile of victory sent starts of terror right through Harry every time it appeared. He wanted to drop the box and run. Yet there was something else inside the young Auror, something far more important than bombastic orders from Fudge, the thought of all the prisoners who fates rested in his hands, and they rooted Harry to the spot. It didn't matter what the Governor General was saying, it didn't matter about the titters of laughter that it generated in the crowd behind him, Harry listened only to his own conscience and he knew he was not going to flee.

When Lucius finally looked back at him, Harry gratefully put back up the walls of hatred and met his adversary head on. Malfoy didn't look happy about something, and then Harry knew why as one of his escorts hissed loudly, "Kneel!"

"Not in this lifetime!" Harry growled low in his throat and then felt hands on his shoulders.

He resisted the push down that both of the grips made on him, and continued to glare at Lucius. In turn, he was being watched intently by the ice-blue Malfoy eyes, and momentary distaste became mild amusement. He waved off the two goons before they could do their work and, instead, looked down his nose at Harry from the elevated position of the dais.

"You have a gift for me, Auror," he announced to the world in general.

Harry didn't answer: he didn't know what the bureaucrats had labelled the box's contents and he wasn't going to confirm or deny the statement. Lucius raised an eyebrow, but allowed the pause, as he had done the refusal to kneel, before he held out his hands. Harry beat down the knot of denial inside that told him not to lift the box towards his enemy's grasp, but his movements were slow as he offered out the hidden item. He felt magic skate all over the surface of the wood as Malfoy's fingers touched the other side of the box and the protections leapt at him. Lucius' smile broadened as the magic approved, and, in disgust of what he had done, Harry snatched back his hands to his sides. Hands on his shoulder blades, however, stopped him from stepping backwards, and so he just gritted his teeth as the box was held up over his head.

"The Dark Lord accepts your tribute, Auror," Lucius announced, and Harry knew it was not merely the box of which he was speaking.

Music blared once more, trumpets that deafened Harry, as the box was placed onto a waiting tray and spirited away by some nameless official. That was it, presentation made, and in Fudge's happy little world this is where his humiliation should have been complete and he should have been sent home with a flea in his ear: that wasn't going to happen. Harry looked up at Lucius and saw the sparkle in his enemy's eye. There had been some hope, some denial of the reality of these peoples' hatred of The Boy Who Lived in Harry as well, but it died then.

"Harry Potter, by the power vested in me by The Dark Lord," Lucius began with a relish which made his subject's stomach turn, "I pronounce you an enemy of this country."

[Tell me something I don't know,] Harry mused protectively, even as his gaze remained unflinchingly upon his condemner.

"As such, I hereby sentence you to death."

[Maybe it _will_ be quick,] the young wizard hoped whimsically, as he watched Malfoy draw his wand.

"You will be taken from here and held to await such time as is named fit for your execution."

[Maybe it won't,] he caught his own mental sigh and wondered about how calm he felt now sentence had been passed.

Surrounded by his enemies, left totally alone by those he had trusted, Harry Potter felt a strange, peaceful separateness, and Malfoy's sentence washed over him. That feeling lasted until his accuser spoke again.

"But in the mean time," Lucius' tone changed from that of the public speaker to one which spoke of a very personal vengeance, one which went back to confrontations in dark places.

Harry blinked and looked into the other man's eyes properly; he went cold. The young man had only seen such blind hatred in one other man, Voldemort, and the reality he was facing slammed home afresh. Given time, Harry really would have panicked, he could feel the hysteria creeping up on him as his spine turned to ice, but, unknowingly, Malfoy saved him that humiliation. The Master of Death Eaters raised his wand, and Harry knew what curse was to come forth.

"Crucio!"

His body erupted in pain, and with an initial gasp, Harry fell to his knees. Then he screamed. As his own voice filled his ears, Harry wondered why he could also hear thunder; a sickness joined his agony as he realised that the roar was no meteorological phenomenon, it was applause. As he crumpled further and convulsed against the mind-breaking torture, shouts of encouragement joined the rumbling ovation. The young man's spirit died a little as the euphoria ran over him in a wave: how could anyone enjoy this? He let the pain take over, it was better than fighting and having to listen to such depravity. Every muscle spasmed wildly, and his cells felt like they would burst, but Harry focused on them, letting the white-hot purity of the agony draw him out of reality. All sensation focused inward, only the soul-burning hurt mattered, and its victim opened to it. It took away thought, it removed emotion, in a way it was a comfort.

Then it was gone.

Harry sagged, his muscles as weak as a new born, and his scream spiralled down into a helpless moan. His body moulded onto the cold stone of the steps, unable to do anything else, and only an automatic response kept him breathing. Cheers and whoops filled his ears again, more painful in their own way than the torture. The young man kept his eyes closed against this horrible actuality, the only protection he had left, and he tried to deny it. Yet Lucius Malfoy was not going to allow passive rejection of his power. A boot contacted roughly with his shoulder, and Harry had no strength to stop himself from being rolled onto his back. He opened his eyes as a body knelt down, close to him, and he met his captor's intoxicated gaze.

"I have you now, Potter," the wraith promised, his tone low, but bitingly audible against the background roar, "welcome to the rest of your life."

Harry had no answer for that, he could not even hide the pang of despair that it caused. Lucius smiled, his eyes almost seductive in their brutality, and then he muttered another curse. His victim didn't hear the words, but he gratefully slipped into the oblivion they offered.

* * *

Harry let the world come back slowly. It was an uncomfortable place where even his bones ached, and his scar was burning still, and the young man tried not to move as the mists lifted. Finally, however, he met reality fully and opened his eyes onto a rough, grey wall. He stared at it for a while, keeping his thoughts largely blank, but life wanted to re-impose itself, despite the numbness he was trying to maintain. With a little sigh, which became a deep groan of tribute to his aches and pain, Harry gathered the courage to roll over, and turned to face his new life.

It was a cell: a close, four-walled prison of granite without a window. The prisoner stifled the chill and insignificance he felt, curled in the corner of the chamber on a hard, wooden cot, and pulled up a thin, rough blanket that had been thrown haphazardly over him. He was cold, his heavy robes gone, replaced by an itchy shirt and trousers that were as grey as the heat-leeching walls.

A dim glow from the other side of the cell door was his only light, but it was artificial, lifeless, so he ignored it and closed his eyes again, trying to hold back any thoughts with an exhaustion that made his limbs heavy. Sleep wouldn't return, however, as the fight to stall his memory became more difficult. The jeers of his enemies came back to his mind's ear, and his own sickness at the lack of humanity which allowed such horrors made Harry's stomach churn.

This was life now, life at the whim of a power-crazed despot. Harry bit his lip to halt a mew of dismay: he would not show weakness to this world, the very idea made him angry. The young wizard grabbed on to that emotion; he was a Gryffindor, an Auror, a human being, and he would not give in to the depravity of others. Deliberately, he sat up and glared at his surroundings; he ignored the soreness of his body and pushed any musings to the back of his mind. Now had to be faced, and he would do it with the stubborn spirit which had earned him a place in his former house.

Harry stood up and stretched; a shiver ran gratefully down his spine. He chose to explore his limited world, taking a few paces away from the bed, and realised that within the shadow of the opposite wall was in fact a small table on which stood a pitcher and bowl. A dark shape next to the bowl turned out to be his glasses, but Harry didn't bother putting them on, it was too dingy to make any difference. Instead he explored the contents of the pitcher, and finding water, poured a little into the bowl. The chilly liquid was refreshing on his face, washing away some of the tight feeling Lucius' ministrations had left over his skin and cooling the almost constant burning of his scar.

Splashing some more water down the back of his neck, the prisoner then moved to the door and looked out through a tiny barred window to the corridor beyond. He couldn't see much, the light from a musty oil lamp that hung opposite him was dull, but he could see the shadows curve on a wall that bent round and then down a spiral staircase: he was in some kind of tower. Harry backed off from the bars of his cage then, all the information gleaned from the limited view, and turned around in his new home. He was truly alone now.

Harry's musing did not last long: he heard the bolt of the door begin to move, and spun on his heel, his heart jumping into his throat. Back to the present, anxiety rushed through the young man as he considered what could be coming through that door. He thought about grabbing a weapon, but the pitcher seemed inappropriate, so Harry just balled his hands into fists and poised himself for whatever came at him. The door swung in almost leisurely, and two figures stood there, framed by the light which they almost blocked out. Harry didn't like their size, both men were thickset and their muscles had muscles. He took a deep breath and grimaced.

The young man's show of defiance seemed to do no more than amuse the newcomers. The slightly shorter of the two goons, at about six foot, Harry guessed, glanced at his compatriot, and grinned. "Looks like our guest doesn't like the accommodation, Brutus," he drawled and sniggered at his joke.

Brutus just grinned, and slapped something in his palm. Harry couldn't quite make it out, and regretted not having put on his glasses, but it quickly became irrelevant as both men closed rapidly on him. He shifted to meet the advance, but found a body barrelling into him which he couldn't stop. Even his smaller assailant had at least twice his body weight, and Harry barely made an impact on Brutus' thick hide as he was wrestled to the ground. He complained hotly, and kicked, but his attacker's mass was placed efficiently on top of him, and then the smaller man moved in as well. Harry saw stars as his head was shoved back onto the stone floor, and then he choked as something was slid under and then tightened around his neck. It constricted across his windpipe, and Harry struggled as his air supply cut off. He reached up to a leather collar which the shorter assailant was pulling tight, but Brutus got in his way and he could do nothing to help himself.

"Just relax, Pup," came the lazy order as he was held down and his world began to spin, "give it up."

His chest complained, and Harry felt his muscles go weak. He shifted one more time, demonstrating his defiance, but reluctantly, he did as he was told.

"Good boy," his smaller assailant condescended, patting his shoulder as his comrade shifted his weight off the failing prisoner.

Harry just coughed as the collar was loosened, and then the man fastened it in a less fatal manner and attached a leash, whose other end was in Brutus' hands.

"The dog has to learn he doesn't get a say in the kennel, eh Brutus?" the gaoler sneered, righting himself, and giving his prisoner a swift kick in the stomach.

"Yes, Villainous," Brutus provided Harry with a name, one so obscenely dramatic it would have been laughable had the situation not been so harsh.

Then the man followed his leader and dug a steel toe-cap into the young wizard's guts. Harry grunted, but gave them no more.

"Up, Pup," Villainous demanded, and his comrade yanked on the chain.

Harry sprawled forward and scrabbled to his feet as his gaolers turned and headed out of the room. Brutus didn't seem to care if his charge made it cleanly round the door post, and only his quick reactions saved Harry from more bruises. Harry grabbed the chain to try and limit the jarring of his neck, but it made very little difference as his new master took perverse pleasure in just pulling more violently. He hit the curved wall that lay outside his cell, but managed to stay upright as he was dragged down the first few steps of the staircase. However, Brutus seemed determined to make it difficult for him, and Harry ended up falling past his guards and stumbling blindly into light so bright that it made him squint. The leash went taut as he reached it length, and the young man was hooked backwards, landing on his knees, coughing. He rested there a moment, contemplating the floor and recovering his breath.

"Welcome home, Harry," the cold tones of Lucius Malfoy disturbed the momentary respite.

Slowly, the captive looked up and met gazes with his nemesis. The tall figure was stood in front of a large, open fireplace, flames dancing behind him, the shadows making patterns in his ashen hair. Harry glared his defiance.

"Don't look so put out, Mr Potter," the self-amused wizard taunted, raising his arms dramatically, "you're back where you belong. Don't you like what I've done with the place?"

The prisoner let his eyes run slowly around the room, considering initially that it was better than having to put up with Malfoy's triumphant grin. As his blurry vision took in the room around him, Harry identified, first weapons, knives, hammers, whips, then more inventive items hanging from the walls, things which inspired nasty ideas in his mind. Yet, the young man slowly realised the true viciousness in his enemy's plans as he recognised the window that showed the night outside and several nooks around the chamber, despite its new decorations.

"No," slipped from his lips in horrified revulsion as Harry made out the lines of Gryffindor common room: he was at Hogwarts, his one-time home, but now a dark castle of which no-one spoke.

Malfoy chuckled. Harry bowed his head, unable to hide the impact of the blow that had just been made.

"A chain here, a hot iron there, it's amazing how one can find a room's true purpose with a little experimenting," the master gloated.

A growl started low in Harry's throat, as small as the glimmer of anger which Malfoy's mocking founded. Yet, by the time it reached his mouth, the roar spoke of total rage and the young man flew at his tormentor. The chain had gone slack where his guards had reached his position, and Harry made it to within a few feet of Lucius, who was shocked into inactivity.

"Bastard!" the maddened man yelled, reaching for his foe with all his strength, straining on the leash.

Yet, Brutus regained control quickly, and he yanked Harry back into him. Malfoy just watched as the pot of rage fought with the two larger men, his shock becoming amusement at the floor show. Villainous grabbed one arm, and Brutus the other. Harry struggled, and kicked, growling some more as all his emotions came out in fury, but the futility of it eventually reached him, and he relaxed in fits, breathing hard. He met the twitching grin playing over Lucius' lips with another hard stare.

"Very impressive, Potter," the blond man derided, "I'm glad I advised my people to use the lead, that Gryffindor animal spirit is coming out."

Harry didn't bother acknowledging the jibe, and was gratified by the smirk slipping from Malfoy's pinched features.

"The chair," the master waved at his lackeys, and the prisoner was dragged over to an austere wooden frame.

He was man-handled into the seat, and the young man bit down on his panic as he lost further control of his world to thick leather straps; the bonds snaked up from their limp positions as soon as his body contacted with the wood, and he barely had time for a flex as they strapped him hard against the solid oak. By the time the enchanted captors had finished, Harry was bound at the wrist, elbow, ankle, knee, waist, neck, and forehead, and he was looking straight at an apparently empty wall. He strained against the constrictions, angry and scared by their significance. However, he froze, his forehead burnt more fiercely than it had since he had woken, and his skin crawled as the plain wall began to glow with a red light, and he heard the voice of his ultimate adversary.

"Harry Potter, I've looked forward to seeing you again," Voldemort's icily smooth tones floated across the room, "I now control your entire existence. Lucius, Brutus and Villainous are my servants, and between them, they will make you pay for every moment I suffered in bodiless torment. They will enjoy breaking you, and I shall enjoy watching. By the time you beg me to let you die, you will wish it had been you who had no body."

"Don't count on it, Voldemort," Harry threw back rebelliously, straining at his bonds afresh as he gathered all the defences he had.

Malfoy laughed, but nothing came from the wall for a moment. Then it was just one word, "Begin."

The Governor General was stood to one side, out of what Harry assumed was Voldemort's eye line, and so he only caught the flash of movement at the edge of his vision before he heard the Cruciatus curse slip from his tormentor's lips. He released the pain in a cry for his freedom and the world went away. The young man didn't know how long he spent in the white place this time, but when reality came back, his muscles were feeble and his shirt was damp. His scream died in his gasps for breath, and with a determination that surprised him, Harry blinked away the remainder of the mist and forced himself back to earth. Malfoy was stood in his view, now, shoulder to wall with his Lord and Master, and his face said that he was apparently satisfied with the results of his cast. Voldemort had other opinions.

"Cruciatus, always effective, Lucius, but unimaginative," the evil criticized in a light, contemplative tone. "Impress me."

The blond man's expression passed through momentary displeasure at the Dark Lord's chiding, but then the challenge appeared on his features. The tall figure paced forward, his lips pursed like an artist assessing his own work. Harry gritted his teeth and wondered how much he'd be able to take.

* * *

As Harry slid gracelessly off the chair, he caught himself wondering why Malfoy had bothered to decorate the room with manual forms of torture. A wand seemed to be all the man needed to make him scream or shudder. He landed in a heap where the sudden release of the straps was supposed to have left him and blinked stupidly at the floor. There had been no warning of a ceasefire, just the abrupt disappearance of Lucius' last illusion and the magical loosening of his bonds. Harry ground his teeth as the memory of the spiders stayed with him; spiders reminded him too much of the close call he and Ron had had in the forbidden forest, and the light tickling of their legs all over his body made his skin crawl. Yet, they were all gone now, and the young man tried to compartmentalise the dread they had inspired as he had been doing with all the other curses and hallucinations which had been cast at him; it was over, he had survived it, again.

"Could try harder," Voldemort intoned and then sniggered, "isn't that what Dumbledore would have written on Lucius' school report, eh Harry?"

Harry slowly lifted his head and glared at the portal to his enemy; the torture had been bad, but the supercilious amusement which came from the hidden place where his ultimate foe resided was, in some ways, worse.

"You scream very well, Harry, but you still don't quite believe it, do you? That this is all there is for you now," the Dark Lord continued, his tone whimsically conversational, "Well, I had expected that you would take time to break; for me, eating through Gryffindor bravado has always been a challenge I enjoy. Moment by moment, emotion by emotion, disbelief by disbelief, you will fail. However, we shall leave you alone for a while, we can't have all our fun in one night. We must let you get to know your surroundings: you will find much that is familiar, but I prefer the new ambiance that my servants have given the place."

"You will never sully the memory of this place, no matter how you defile it," Harry found his voice and knew he was talking about himself as well as the room.

"Brave words, Potter," Malfoy joined the exchange, closing in on his weakened opponent.

His adversary forced Harry's gaze upward with the sharp point of his wand under his chin. The young man swiped at the finely crafted instrument, his loathing for its malicious owner coming out again. However, his reactions were slow, and Lucius stepped rapidly away, a little startled, but more annoyed than anything else. He raised his casting arm to take revenge for the insolence, and Harry glowered defiantly, waiting for a curse, but then laughter floated between them, destroying the moment. Both men glanced up to the Dark Lord's wall, for once on equal footing in their surprise. Voldemort's chuckle held real amusement, in its own twisted way. However, the evil wizard rectified the transitory equality between captor and captive as he observed, "Lucius, you really will have to be more careful with my pet, he apparently still has teeth. Now leave him."

The command that came to Voldemort's tone was unmistakable, and the effect that it had on Malfoy gave Harry a little satisfaction. The young wizard knew he wasn't the only slave round here, however well-dressed his master allowed the overseer to be. Harry used the knowledge to bolster his ego, and he strengthened his stare as he silently watched his three tormentors retreat. Only as the door closed and the wall returned to ordinary grey did the prisoner sag.

Relief that it was finally over flooded his exhausted system, and Harry leant heavily against the leg of the chair. The furniture was bolted to the floor, and the other end of the chain attached to his collar was fastened to it; Harry reached up to the collar, it didn't feel like there was any special lock keeping it secure, but his fingers could not find the tongue of leather which would release him. With a frustrated little sigh, Harry relaxed again and chided himself on expecting any less than the obviously magical constraint.

Harry closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. His body was sore, his shirt having been ripped open by the ever enthusiastic Brutus, and the skin beneath having been sliced with multiple tiny consequences of an expertly applied incisum curse. One by one, Lucius had made him pant away the pointless pain: they hadn't asked any questions, hadn't demanded anything of him except his discomfort, and in some ways that was worse. These were games, he knew it as surely as he knew he was still breathing: physical games and mind games, and in the back of his thoughts, Harry knew the mind games were going to be worse than any injury his body sustained.

It had already begun, as the left over sensations from the torture were dwarfed by the effect of his surroundings. Hogwarts: in his memory it had remained a place of safety, of warmth, despite the rumours that had circulated about the debauchery and torture that went on in its walls under the new regime. Despite his bold statements, Harry could not deny that Lucius had chosen well with his choice of torture chamber. This place had been his home far more than any other he had known, and finding it transformed so cruelly had been a low blow.

The young man grabbed onto a yawn that crossed his lips and used it to push away the brooding. He wasn't going to dwell, his tormentors were doing a good enough job of making his new life hell without his own mind adding to the stress, so instead he found the soft dark place that was his fatigue, and let the warmth of the fire push him towards slumber.

* * *

Harry didn't make it all the way to sleep; he drifted a while, letting shadows mask his thoughts, but then the heavy clunk of a bolt being drawn aside brought him sharply back to reality. It could have only been minutes: was that all he was going to be allowed? Was Malfoy not tired as well? The questions threaded through the prisoner's head, destroying the slim peace he had accomplished and making him tensely alert. Yet his disquiet, if not unfounded, turned out to be misjudged.

Harry climbed to his feet, an old animosity feeding his attitude, as he recognised the figure who stepped through the doorway. Draco Malfoy had not changed: he was still the tall, elegant youth Harry had last seen leave this very castle almost five years ago. His clothes, maybe looked more expensive, black slacks and a black, silk shirt Harry assessed, and he willed the newcomer forward so he could make out his face. Draco answered his unspoken request by moving much closer, but for his own reasons, and the old-adversaries regarded each other for a moment in retrospective silence. The blond man slouched a little, hands in his pockets, trying to appear nonchalant, but Harry could see the spark in his eyes. This was a distant rivalry given new ground in which to develop, and both young men let it come back to the surface.

"Potter, it's been a while," Draco eventually broke the stand off by being the third person to greet him with false manners.

"Not long enough," Harry chose the direct approach.

Draco raised an eyebrow, and amusement twitched at the corners of his mouth.

"Really!" the blond man pouted then, and he revealed, "but I've been looking forward to this for ages."

Harry bristled at the childish taunt. Where had this guy been for five years? He still sounded like the teenager who had plagued Gryffindors with his petty jealousies. Yet very quickly, Harry became aware that there was something more behind the juvenile act as their school-day rivalry matured.

"I offered my advice when Father said we'd be having the great Harry Potter coming to stay," Draco's tone hardened as he began to make his point. "I expect he took the credit for this, but the new décor was my idea. What better way to break a Gryffindor's spirit than destroying his house pride."

"I don't break that easily," Harry retorted instantly.

Draco laughed, and mused, rocking on his heels, "Oh this is only one tiny tooth on a serrated blade. We have far more planned for you. Father and I enjoy discussing it over dinner."

Potter bit his tongue; there was no point in wasting his energy on this conversation, he recognised a psychopath in his adversary's demeanour. However, his refusal to rise to the bait caused a sudden change in Draco that Harry wasn't expecting. The detached tease disappeared behind a mask of rage, and he barely had time to register it and shy away before a shove sent him tumbling backwards over the chair. He landed in a painful heap, but just gaped up at the fury that exploded from Malfoy.

"You're pathetic, Potter," his newest adversary yelled, face twisted into a snarl. "Always so predictably noble. Sacrificing yourself for some faceless mudbloods. Do you really think it's going to make any difference?"

Harry just carried on staring, at a loss to explain the madness in his antagonist.

"You can't seriously believe that the Dark Lord will release the mudbloods now he has one of the most powerful items in the wizarding world!" Draco growled, "You have no idea what you've done."

The messages the incensed young wizard were sending out remained confusing, but with his last denouncement, Harry began to get the feeling that this was something personal.

"Why," he asked, interrupting another tirade before it began, "why do you care so much about what I've done?"

Draco's flow halted, he seemed surprised that he had been cut short, and he paused a moment, his eyes flashing.

"I am the Heir," he announced as if it answered everything.

Harry just looked at him, he knew that, the entire magical world knew that Draco Malfoy had been named as The Heir Apparent to the Dark Lord almost as soon as he'd left Hogwarts. He failed to gauge the significance, and this seemed to feed his opponent's ire further.

"Crabbe!" the young man called, beckoning towards the door.

Harry had a rush of déjà vu as he recognised the large man in purple and black robes. He'd grown a beard, and gained even more weight, but the captive was looking at his expression, which reminded him of days past.

"Curse him," Draco ordered wildly, and the thug drew his wand.

"Mordeo!" Crabbe intoned with more skill than Harry remembered him to have.

The young man tensed as his skin broke out in the pain of a thousand stings, but he gritted his teeth against it. Voldemort and Lucius was one thing, but he was damned if he was going to give this toe rag of a contemporary any satisfaction without a hell of a fight. He shook with the battle, glaring at Malfoy to swell his indignance, and he won. Much to Malfoy's disgust, Crabbe left off.

"Again," Draco demanded, his face darker than Harry had ever seen it.

For a moment, the hulking man's face showed the lack of imagination that Harry remembered, but then he raised his wand again.

"Tango," he revealed his experience in the more violent curses, and Harry grunted as his ribs shook with an unseen impact.

"Harder," the director commanded, something near frustration in his manner.

Crabbe repeated himself, and this time, Harry rolled backwards, his head hitting the floor with a crack. He stayed put, letting the stars dance in front of his eyes, and then he groaned. The young man curled over himself as his torturer aimed his next blow carefully, hitting his groin.

"Use your fists," the younger Malfoy sounded very much like the elder as he revelled in his orders.

Harry wrapped his head in his arms and closed his eyes.  



	3. The Discoveries of Flight

The sound of a man's voice brought Harry from unconsciousness; his senses hooked onto the low, frustrated muttering as he came out of the stupor that had freed him from Crabbe's violence, and slowly his dazed thoughts began to interpret the words. Sore and stunned by his first encounter with the torture chamber, Harry lay still and listened to what arranged itself into a mainly one-sided conversation.

"Tell me exactly what the point of this is?" an exasperated voice announced; there was no reply, but this did not seem to deter the man, because he carried on muttering, "Look at the state of him, he doesn't need a healer, he needs an executioner."

Silence on that little gem, and Harry decided he didn't like this medical man who seemed to want to talk to himself.

"If I heal these injuries he'll need a good day of bed rest."

Brutus' laugh alerted Harry to his presence. In the few hours since meeting his gaoler, Harry had learnt that he lived up to his name with relish, and the young man opened his eyes upon the threat he perceived. Brutus was stood by the door of his cell, arms folded and holding a lantern. The man whose complaints had first brought Harry from sleep was kneeling beside the bed, had his wand drawn and was looking up at the amusement from his escort.

"What is so funny?" the much smaller man objected, his chinless profile showing more than a little annoyance: his hair was tousled and he looked to Harry like he had just got out of bed.

"The Boss ain't gonna go for that, Healer," Brutus shook his big head slowly; he may have been going to say more, but it was then that the oaf noticed Harry was awake and his easy manner hardened.

Harry couldn't help it, he cringed as the violent man closed in on him. The healer fell aside with a wordless complaint, and Harry gagged as a large hand settled on his throat and pushed him down onto the boarding.

"Eavesdroppping, was yer, Pup?!" came the challenge, but Harry only had the strength to cough back his foul breath.

He swooned as the rough handling tipped his weakened body back over the limit that had seen him pass out in the first place, but a few breaths and the world came spinning back with Brutus looming, but no longer touching.

"Behave yerself," the lout warned and Harry just looked at him, wondering why Brutus thought he was capable of doing anything.

"Can I get on with my work now?" the healer snarked. "Some of us want to get some sleep tonight."

Brutus was still looking for some kind of response, that Harry was not going to give, but he looked round when prompted, and with a hrmph back at Harry, picked up the lantern and returned to his previous position. Wary of another outburst, Harry lay very still and looked at his healer. The man did not seemed impressed that he was awake, and made his contempt for the patient very clear as he asked coldly, "Can you sit up?"

Harry hadn't really tried: everything had hurt when he had reacted to Brutus' attack, but he had mainly frozen. He tried to do as he'd been told. Very quickly, stabbing pains ran out from his torso and Harry collapsed back onto the cot, panting with the hurt.

"Broken ribs," the healer told him, a nasty smile on his face. "I'm your healer, I know what is best. You do as I say, or something like that happens again, understand?"

Harry grimaced, but he got the message and nodded silently. Brutus laughed again.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure how long the healer continued to examine him: the man gave him a potion shortly after things began and the world went misty. He poked and prodded, testing bones and muscles, and cleaning and healing as he went along, and by the time he'd finished, Harry was buzzing with the magic, but all the sharp pains had been reduced to manageable aches and so the young man was not complaining about the treatment. He was very sleepy, but he was also naked where the man had stripped him to treat his wounds, and so vulnerability was keeping him vaguely aware of the world. That wary incentive was removed when the healer pulled his blanket up over him, and unable to fight his exhaustion any more, Harry closed his eyes.

"At least two hours," he heard barked at Brutus, but then the world went away.

* * *

It could have been two hours, it could have been twenty, because when he woke up, Harry's world had not changed significantly. The flickering oil lamp outside gave away neither day, nor night, and for a few moments, Harry lay in his isolated world, disoriented by the lack of input. The only judge of time was the fact that the magical buzz had cleared and he thought that he felt a lot stronger, and so, carefully, the prisoner sat up. Muscles twinged, and his whole body had gained a dull, background ache, but Harry pushed it aside in favour of a shiver of cold. The blanket wasn't much protection against the stones that he began to think might be enchanted to chill the atmosphere, and so, swiftly, Harry reached to pick up his uniform. He pulled the rough fabric over a body which now showed no sign of the abuse that had been meted out by his two sets of tormentors, and it left him feeling strangely cheated. The young man put that thought aside quickly and finally realised why he had woken up, because his stomach rumbled loudly and the smell of food reached his nostrils.

There was a tray at the base of the door, in front of a little hatch Harry hadn't noticed before. His blurry eyes made out a bowl and a lump of something yellowish and his nose told him it was probably edible, but, ever cautious of his new life, Harry took his time with the suggestion of food. He grabbed his glasses off the little table and then knelt down in front of the tray, checking as best he could for any signs of trickery: he could see none, so he picked up the tray and sat back on the bed. Placing the tray on his lap, he paid more attention to the actual food.

Despite his bodily rumblings, Harry's appetite was pretty low, and the offering in front of him did not help matters. The yellowish something was a hunk of bread, spread with a substance that definitely wasn't butter, or even margarine; a tentative sniff suggested to Harry that it smelt of beef, so he guessed it was some type of animal fat. He put the bread down and decided he wasn't hungry enough. The second item on the tray was a heavy pottery bowl and Harry recognised the contents immediately, porridge. He liked porridge: it was worth a try. He picked up the wooden spoon that stood beside the bowl and broke the surface of the brown/grey mass. It parted a little too easily: so the porridge was watery, but it stayed in the spoon, so Harry lifted some to his lips. The gloop's temperature was tepid at best, but it was still warmer than he was feeling, so Harry swallowed a mouthful. The porridge was incredibly salty and not much else, and Harry coughed as it hit the back of his mouth, but it went down his throat and warmed it, so he braved another spoonful.

Harry swiftly came to the conclusion that the meal had been designed to be inedible: he managed about half the porridge before he had to gulp down some water direct from the pitcher, and a couple of bites of the fatty substance on the bread made him feel sick, so he left the rest. He was, however, a little warmer when he put down the tray and retreated back under the blanket, and he'd taken the edge off his hunger, but the prisoner was not expecting to feel replete any time soon.

Harry relaxed against the wall, hugging his knees to try and maintain some of the heat from the food and looked around his cell once more. Looking was all he had to do, looking and thinking, since the room was devoid of any other entertainment. The young man didn't want to think, he knew his thoughts would be nasty, so he chose to look, and concentrated on the shadows that danced on the wall opposite.

* * *

Falling asleep again happened without Harry really noticing, until he woke with a start in response to the sound of the door-bolt. He fought the disorientation of his surroundings this time, and planted his feet on the floor. He was standing by the time Brutus appeared in the doorway and he hardened his stare to whatever was coming next. The lead was in his gaoler's hand, Harry saw it clearly for the first time and he realised he was wearing his glasses. That meant that he also saw Brutus' expression with crystal clarity, and he saw his adversary's pleasure for the work he was performing. Not liking the violence in the other man's eyes, Harry pulled off his glasses to protect them, but still made out Brutus' smile widening.

"Sensible, Pup," the lout chuckled to himself, "Now, are yer gonna behave, or do I get some fun?"

The option was a rock and a hard place, but Harry was not about to let his defiance slip, it was all he had, and so he just grimaced at Brutus. His gaoler chuckled again, but that was all: his lack of response confused Harry and he poised himself warily, trying to assess his large opponent. Suddenly there was movement, and Harry was only just in time in lifting his arms to protect his face as the leash chain came sailing towards him. The metal collided with his forearms and caught around them and provided enough of a distraction that Harry was not ready when Brutus' body barrelled into him. He pushed back at his attacker, complaining in a shout, but it was too late, he was off balance and, trying to free his arms in order to catch himself, Harry crashed to the ground. The chain fell away, and Harry scrabbled for purchase on his world, but Brutus was already descending on his legs, moving surprisingly fast for one so large. Bulk and gravity worked against Harry, and his fight came to an end as Brutus grabbed his wrists and leant on them. Pinned down, Harry realised the futility of extending his resistance and surrendered.

Brutus released him as soon as he relaxed and Harry lay still, looking up at the shadowy bulk. He received a large paw-pat on his cheek for the submission, and his oppressor commended, "Good, Pup."

Harry didn't like the condescension, but he was sensible enough to save up his resentment for when it was needed. He bit his tongue and just watched as Brutus looked around for the discarded leash. However, it wasn't metal on stone that Harry heard as the man reached out to the side, it was wood sliding over the floor.

"You ain't eatin' yer bread 'n' drippin'?" Brutus sounded surprised as he held up the doorstop from the tray.

Harry didn't answer.

"Mine now," Brutus decided and demolished half the slice in one bite.

Casually, as he smacked his lips around the rest of the food, Brutus reached out and this time Harry did hear metal on stone. He tensed, and a hand still holding the remnants of fatty bread smacked down on his chest. Harry coughed, and by the time he'd fought air back into his lungs, the lead was attached to his collar and Brutus was climbing to his feet.

"Come on, Pup, the Boss wants yer."

* * *

Harry lay on his back and stared at the faraway ceiling. He couldn't make out much, the oil lamp was guttering low, needing refilling, and Harry had decided after the first close call that it was a foolish idea to wear his glasses around the viciousness of Brutus and Villainous. The spectacles were tucked away safely in a small crevice he had found in the new, magically erected walls, which had made the turret room his cell.

He wasn't looking for details, though, the distant blur just helped him think. He'd had to start thinking eventually, despite his initial attempts to just look. He'd been dragged into the chamber below four times so far, each time as futile as the last: no questions, no apparent objective but to make him scream and there was no evidence his captors planned on changing that routine. Routine: that was a joke. Isolated from the turning of the days, there was no predictability in anything for Harry. They'd fed him twice, tortured him four times, but the glimpses the torture chamber's window had given him of the world outside had served only to tell Harry that the timings of his torments were anything but regular.

It had been no more than three days, he was almost sure. He was still fighting, at least that was something, and he even managed to sleep sometimes, but as he brooded, Harry knew he had to get away, and he had to do it soon.

* * *

Brutus was never quiet when he came to check on his prisoner, Harry could hear him coming up the stairs, wheezing from the pipe he kept at his belt. After the initial introductions, the two guards had taken to working in shifts: of how long, Harry wasn't sure, and like the random torture session, he had concluded that they were being deliberately inconstant. Villainous, despite his loutish size was an intelligent man, he pre-empted most of the opposition Harry could give him with a condescending violence, which made him a dangerous opponent. Brutus was the thicker of his two gaolers, his wit dulled by years of what Harry could only guess was some kind of competitive fighting, judging by his damaged face. Thus the young wizard had decided his next shift would be the time to make his play.

Harry curled over and faced the wall, the rough blanket held carefully in his hands. He forced himself to stay relaxed, despite his nerves, and he drew in long deep breaths: Brutus had to think he was asleep. The last session had only been a short time ago, or so he though, and Harry had needed a healer to mend some more broken bones. The healers were always different as well, and the man may not have been very sympathetic, but, like his contemporaries, he had left with instructions to the gaoler to let his patient sleep for a while. The prisoner hoped Brutus took other's orders as literally as he did Lucius'.

The door opened. Harry listened to the scraping of Brutus' hobnails on the flagstones. He came halfway into the room. The young wizard stayed very still as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. This was crunch time, Brutus would never turn his back if he didn't think Harry was sleeping, the feisty prisoner had given him too many bruises for him to be that stupid. The deception worked: Harry heard the man turn and step towards the far side of the room. The pitcher was too large to go through the gap at the bottom of the door where food was passed in, and Harry had worked out that his guards replaced the water when he was incapacitated. As he heard the scrape of metal jug on its bowl, the would-be escapee flew into action.

Moody had taught him this assault technique with a cloak, shortly after he had joined the Order of the Phoenix, but a blanket would do equally well. Harry closed on his target and threw the cloth over Brutus's head. The man barely had time to react as the desperate fighter pulled it tight, yanked backwards and toppled his foe. If the whack of skull on wall as the man went down was not enough to stop a retaliation, Harry grabbed the pitcher and brought it down hard. Brutus grunted, and then lay still. Hastily, the young wizard unwrapped the blanket: if the man was still alive, he was not going to let him suffocate, he at least still had values. The large figure was still breathing as his assailant reached to his belt for the keys which hung there. Then, with a dive for his glasses, Harry dashed out of the door.

The young man pelted straight across the old common room and came to an uncertain halt at the newly barred door at its entrance. This was where he hoped his luck would hold: this door was always locked when he was left in the room to contemplate his fate, and he was hoping that was all the security he had been afforded. Over-confidence had always been a Slytherin trait, and Harry was gratified to find it echoed in the Death Eaters' security; as he unlocked and pulled at the over-sized handle, the door came open and it appeared Harry Potter was not considered high risk, because the night-time corridor beyond lay empty. With a grim smile, the wizard continued his flight.

After seven years here, Harry knew Hogwarts' ever-shifting stairways like the back of his hand. Even with the old paintings and hangings gone, replaced by dark images and purple and black drapery, the fugitive recognised classrooms of days gone by as his bare feet padded down the chilly hallways. Harry let the back of his mind wonder what these dark chambers were being used for now, but he concentrated on his main purpose, to find his way out.

Harry wasn't sure how he ended up outside the Great Hall: one too many night patrols had made him reassess his journey to make his navigation that accurate. As he paused to take stock once more, a voice he definitely didn't want to hear came from his left. The young wizard ducked swiftly into the slightly open doorway of the darkened hall as Draco Malfoy's irritable tones came down the corridor.

"Crabbe do you have to hover like that?!" the young man snapped. "I won't just disappear in a puff of smoke."

"Lucius wants --," the body guard began slowly, and was interrupted by an impatient, frustrated argument, "I know what Lucius wants, and I'm going aren't I? I'm not going to run off, where the hell would I go anyway?"

"We have to wait in the hall," Crabbe intoned like he was reciting from a piece of paper, and Harry rapidly backed away from the door into the pitch-black hall, regretting his hasty choice of bolt hole.

"Alright, alright," Draco growled, and then the door opened further.

Harry reversed into something light and silky, where his mind told him there should have been thin air, but he dived behind it gratefully as Crabbe waved his wand offhandedly and cast, "Inlumino."

The walls lit up with a hazy purple glow and Harry resisted the urge to be sick. The magnificent hall of his childhood was draped from floor to ceiling in silk of the blackest night upon which were painted designs in purple. Harry was thankful that he only recognised a few symbols, but they were enough to nauseate the hardest white wizard. They suggested sacrifice and debauchery.

If his situation had not been so serious, Harry would have run. As it was, he was stuck. The side lighting lit up the area enough for Harry to realise that he was hiding between two sets of curtains which divided the once huge hall. The barrier through which he overlooked the two Old-Slytherins created an ante-chamber, large enough for thirty or so people. Behind him, Harry didn't really want to see, the outer walls were enough, so he concentrated on Draco and Crabbe.

Crabbe didn't look any different than when Harry had last seen him, but Draco drew his attention. The tall, lithe figure was a dramatic sight, his pale skin and ashen hair contrasting strongly with jet black trousers. And that was it, that was all he was wearing. His feet were bare, his athletic chest shone with body oil, perfectly smooth except for one dark scar over his heart. Harry squinted to try and make out the graduations of the galleon-sized mark, but he was some distance away, and even with his glasses on, he could only deduce that it was probably a burn. Then it was gone, as he was presented with Draco's butt when the young man turned to face Crabbe.

"Get out, leave me alone for five minutes," the blond wizard ordered coldly, his legs apart and his hands on his hips.

The other man stared passively at his charge for a moment, and then he nodded silently. The look in his eyes was strange, Harry thought he saw something verging on pity, but he didn't see it long enough to be sure. Crabbe turned and left without another word. Draco stared after him for a couple of seconds, but then Harry got the surprise of his life as the young man's shoulder's sagged. From the haughty brat, he transformed in the blink of an eye into someone who looked tired. If he hadn't been feeling so much animosity towards his old enemy, Harry would have felt sorry for him, as it was, he just regarded the new information curiously. With a lethargy which Harry sensed was not due to physical fatigue, Draco plodded over to a chair and sat down. His face grim, he sunk his head into his hands.

There was silence.

Harry wasn't sure how long he watched, Draco was vaguely fascinating, lost in his own personal despair. The young wizard couldn't be certain of his feelings on the subject, either: Malfoy was an enemy, a brutal one at that, but still, Harry's humanity caused something to ache in his soul. Maybe it was pity, like that in Crabbe's attitude, maybe it was something else; the concealed man didn't try to analyse what he was seeing, he just watched until the door creaking told both occupants that more people were headed into the hall. Harry glanced at the door, sinking a little further into his hiding space, and when his eyes returned to Draco he saw a different man to the one he had been observing. This one sat better with Harry's raging hatred of all that was Malfoy. The young man was back on his feet. His eyes were cold, like the ice of their colouring and his stance was openly superior, as if those now coming in to the room were lower than being worth his contempt. Harry also saw a challenge in those eyes, Draco was reigning in the authority of his position and daring anyone to challenge it. One person did.

Lucius halted the dozen or so purple-robed wizards, whom he was leading, by merely planting his feet and halting in front of them. They hovered subserviently behind his coat tails, watching as father and son met gazes. If it was possible, Harry thought Draco's stare hardened even further. For once that look was not echoed in both Malfoys, instead Lucius' gaze held more of a self-amused confidence as he greeted, "Good evening, Draco, on time as usual."

The observation was a jibe, Harry had heard enough of them from his torturer to recognise one. There were forces at work here the hidden wizard realised he did not fully understand, but he did gather that Lucius had charge of them.

"Father," Draco returned with an almost imperceptible nod of his head: his whole body was screaming hostility to his parent.

Yet, then, like the first confrontation in the common room, Harry was once again made aware of the erratic mood swings of his former classmate; as he watched, the younger Malfoy switched, that is the only way Harry could describe it. One second, Draco was a taut, aggressive opponent, and the next his features lit up with a nasty smile. He laughed, a sound that supported Harry's growing theory that Draco was unbalanced, and announced, "Who's ready to have a little fun tonight?"

Oddly, in his observer's opinion, Lucius seemed more at ease with this version of Draco than the previous second's. Harry knew he wasn't always that observant, he was too trusting of the goodness in people to always see the flaws, but even he could see the danger that lurked in the back of the son's eyes as he went to hug his father. The hostility had been honest, blatant even, yet it had been cowed by the order of things. There was still murder waiting in this new man's eyes, and Harry was certain it would come out.

Yet the look was gone again as Lucius hugged his son, and then stood him back for a swift examination.

"You look good," the father praised, patting his child's bare shoulders.

Draco's stare now held a mixture of admiration and adoration as he accepted the compliment.

"Are you ready?"

Draco nodded.

"You know what to do?"

Again the son nodded.

"Good. See you inside."

Lucius then led his pack of wizards past Harry's hiding place and through the second curtain. Draco seemed to sag a little as their eyes left him, and he watched their backs disappear. Yet he straightened again as the sound of the door closing drew his startled attention. Crabbe was now stood between anyone and the exit, his arms folded, his features set. The man's beady eyes met Draco's gaze, and for a moment that pity came back, but then it was gone, hardened by the job he had to do. The younger Malfoy turned back to the main chamber entrance and his stare went blank.

* * *

Harry was almost certain he was watching a statue, and he had been for some minutes. Draco didn't even seem to be breathing: his eyes were vacant, and his stance was fixed. Chanting had filled the hall some time ago, and Harry concentrated on Draco as he tried to ignore the insistent, skin-crawling drone. Chanting was an art, it could be used to enhance magical concentration, to uplift, to enthral, and to command. Harry was deliberately not listening to the words of this mantra, the atmosphere it was creating told him enough, it felt bad. He was so used to keeping the low sound outside, at the back of his mind, that when it suddenly climaxed, without warning, into a deafening shout, Harry gasped and threw his hands over his ears. The concealed man realised what he had done as soon as he felt the silk on the atrium side of the hall shiver with his touch. Draco's stupor lifted in response, and his eyes narrowed towards the movement. Harry froze. Yet, another shout saved him from discovery, as it drew back Draco's attention. Any interest in the curtain fell away as a look of dread brushed the sharp features, but was then whipped away by the protective automaton.

Harry held his breath and stepped further back into his recess as Draco walked past. The fugitive found himself in open space. A little disoriented, Harry turned round, and realised that the curtain for the main chamber had begun to bend away from him in a curve. The drapery's profile was lit by a dim purple light, which came through a break in the smooth black a few metres ahead of him. The young wizard moved towards the light, wondering at the same time if he really wanted to know what was beyond this curtain. Yet, Draco's apparently schizophrenic complicity in whatever was happening had inspired Harry's curiosity and so he found himself at the gap where one curtain stopped and another started.

Harry's view passed between two hooded wizards, who were formed, with their comrades, into a large circle. Harry's eyes were drawn straight to the centre of that round. Lucius Malfoy was stood, almost with his back to the watcher, but Harry could see enough of his profile to recognise the intoxication of power when he saw it. The father was staring down his son, who was stood before him, his face blank.

"Draco, inservi Aterum Dominum," Lucius intoned coldly.

"Inservio," his child returned in monotone, closing his eyes and holding his arms out away from his body, clearly in submission.

The father then backed off into a place at the head of the circle, and Draco was left to face his fate alone. The chanting began again, and each wizard pulled out his wand. It was then that Harry noticed the inside of the Heir's wrists: they began to glow, that is the only way Harry could describe it to himself, but they were glowing black. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach came back as the young wizard watched the output increase and he saw dark magic at work. Draco seemed unaware of what was happening, his face remained passive, locked away in the shell Harry had seen him create. Yet that was to change.

Lucius raised his wand, and ordered, "Veneficium inicio!"

Visible power lanced from the tip of his wand and hit his son squarely in the chest. Draco's head flew back, and his mouth opened, but only a gasp of breath came out, barely audible above the chant. The young man's body shook, and the marks on his wrists pulsated, but he maintained his footing. Harry squinted in the bright light, half turning away, but fascinated by the way the power danced over Draco's breast and disappeared into it: he didn't really believe what he was seeing, magic acted on things, people, objects, it didn't just disappear inside them. Yet that is what Harry had to accept he was seeing, a body taking in power.

Harry's teeth were on edge already from the chant, and he could feel his muscles tightening as he watched a father feed his son, but he began to relax with no little relief as the magic from Lucius' wand began to dim. However, as it failed, the wizard to his widdershins lifted his wand and cast: Harry tensed all over again. The power lanced over the younger Malfoy's chest and he gasped once more, raising onto his toes, his back arching towards it. He seemed lost somewhere between agony and ecstasy. Harry cringed, appalled by the opposites he could see in his contemporary.

A third bolt of energy from the next wizard caused a vocalisation, only a tiny murmur against the droning circle, but enough to make Harry's knees weaken. He recognised that sound, it was of disbelief, incredulity of what was happening: it had come from his own mouth many times in the last few days. Then the young wizard was angry with himself, how could he liken his suffering to this depraved creature? Draco was a volunteer, he had gone to the Dark Lord willingly, with a relish that existed in very few of even the Slytherins. There was no comparison. And yet with the fourth and fifth and sixth blasts he heard the same sound, each time a little louder, each time reminding him more of himself. And then Draco finally screamed. It wasn't the pure sound of the victim, his voice also held qualities of rapturous frenzy, but that just made it worse. Harry sunk to his knees, wondering perversely if his own cry had rung with such pleasure. He denied it.

Half way round the circle, and the watcher shook with remembered pain as Draco collapsed to his knees as well. Now his eyes were open, his face creased into something near rage as every muscle in his torso flexed with the unrelenting magic. Still his arms were out, displaying the pulsating runes, but his hands had become fists in the fight. Harry could not draw his eyes away, he was locked in his own disgust, and so it was he who first recognised Draco begin to fail. He almost called out for it to stop as he saw the protective rage falter. The ice-blue of Draco's eyes clouded with doubt, and then his cry wavered. There was no more ecstasy, only agony and his hands fell to his sides.

"Hold!" Lucius immediately commanded, and suddenly there was silence.

The son looked to his father, his expression blank again, but this time Harry knew it was no self-imposed mask, but the ceremony which had wiped a mind, and then Draco began to fall forward. The parent ran forward and caught the failing form. For one deceptive moment, Harry thought that it was parental concern in his manner, but he was corrected as Lucius stroked his son's hair and addressed him with something near pride, "Very good, My Son."

Harry sunk back onto his heels, demoralised and drained by the visions that were still running in his head. He looked at the exhausted face of his contemporary and knew it wasn't pity, it was sympathy he was experiencing: Harry choked back bile.

All thought of concealment and flight had left Harry as he had become engrossed in events played out before him, but reality came slamming back as Draco looked back at him. The man chilled as the ice of those eyes met his hidden gaze, and he knew with certainty that the failing wizard knew of his presence. Yet his stare held no victory in such a discovery, in fact it held very little clarity at all, just a vague sadness, and he did not try and alert his companions. The sudden spike of alarm drained away from Harry, Draco was not going to reveal him, not now anyway, either from choice or pure incapacitation he wasn't sure, but he didn't care. He just watched, imprudently calm, as Lucius supported his son's torso against his legs and waited. Slowly, Draco's eyes closed and he relaxed completely.

* * *

Harry sat in the dark for a long time after the midnight celebrants had left. He was cold, jumpy and fighting a confusion that new opinions of Draco Malfoy were causing. He hated the man, he was selfish, manipulating, scheming, cruel: the descriptions and more ran around in the young wizard's mind, and yet they clashed with the empathy that he had felt for his adversary. He wanted things black and white again, with him on one side and the younger Malfoy on the other. Angrily, he knew it was never going to be like that again. Whatever his existing feelings about Draco, he had watched Crabbe plod into the wizard's circle and pick up the unconscious body and the sheer helplessness in him then had added a new understanding, a comprehension of some of the experience that made the blond wizard what he was.

[It's no excuse,] Harry told himself and ground his teeth with illogical rage.

This wasn't fair, he needed all the ammunition he could get to fight the evil around him, and Draco had stolen some of it.

[It's not fair,] his mind repeated, and with the thought, the surreality of what he was doing seeped into the young man's consciousness. He laughed, a small whisper of the stupidity that crept up on him.

[What the hell am I doing?] he demanded of himself. [I'm on the run in a castle full of my enemies, who will undoubtedly be looking for me by now, and I'm sitting on my arse having a hissy fit?!]

Harry stood up and pushed all thoughts but those of the present to the back of his mind. Purposefully, he made his way back between the curtains and towards the door.

Outside, the steps to the great hall were as dark as the room itself, and for a moment, Harry considered heading towards the front door. Yet his good sense caught up with him again and reminded him that such bold gestures were foolhardy in the extreme. Instead, he slipped out of the Atrium and up a corridor which had once led to more classrooms. There were many more people about now, and they did indeed seem to be searching for Harry Potter. The fugitive had realised his chance for an undetected escape had passed, and he had already had one too many close calls with patrols. Hence, he was now considering finding a bolt hole and waiting until the search had slackened off. In a castle that had had as many mysteries as it had students, however, Harry was finding it surprisingly hard to scope out a secure location. So it was that he found himself evading his captors by side stepping into the library.

The young man regretted his choice of flight path immediately, because he heard voices from within. Yet, he couldn't go back the way he had come, two groups of determined-looking hunters were heading towards each other from either end of the corridor. Harry dashed for the ranks of shelves and hoped the owners of the voices would be leaving soon. He had had to sprint the last hundred yards to avoid detection, and so the wizard sank to the ground against a bookcase and tried to limit the gasps his lungs wanted to take. He shivered as beads of sweat from both exertion and stress trickled down his spine, taking the heat out of him, and prayed to anyone who might be listening for his corner to remain undiscovered.

Harry tensed, and his ears prickled at the sound of footsteps coming down the aisle beyond his hiding place. He instantly regretted the feeling of stone against his back, as he realised there was no way out, and so the young man just sank further into the shadows.

"Is it there?" a voice called from further down the library.

"Yes, Madam," a young female tone returned lightly, and Harry's heart jumped into his throat; he couldn't quite believe his ears as he recognised the timbre: Ginny Weasley.

The young woman had been disappeared two years ago, along with her mentor, a Madam Flintarrow, just as she had begun a promising career at the Wizards Archaeological Trust. Caution helped the young man resist the urge to jump up and hug the girl he had mourned as another casualty of Voldemort's regime, but he let himself be flooded by the thousand and one questions about her presence on the other side of the bookcase. She didn't sound distressed or under duress, in fact, the young woman seemed bright as Harry heard her flick pages and add, "Old Fumehart's text mentions the orb: 'The Orb of Eternity else known as The Hand of Life, hath many depths, not least of which is the power that placeth it beside The Philosopher's Stone. Yet beware any who searcheth out such power for what the Orb giveth, the Hand may take away, and thy soul willt be lost.' Hmm, uplifting," she joked.

"Fumehart always was morose," the wry observation came back from further down the hall. "Bring it, would you, and the Grayform's Liturgy, it should be there somewhere, and I need his reference if the Midnight Oil ceremony is to go according to plan."

"Yes, Madam," Ginny answered, and Harry started as the book slammed closed.

He couldn't quite believe the casual conversation he was hearing, not in the middle of such horrors. Yet its subject made him take note. An object as powerful as the Philosopher's Stone had to have been to what Draco had been referring during his visit to Gryffindor tower. Harry had a name for the item he had delivered right into Voldemort's grasp, and the enormity of it made his heart sink. Eternal life, it had to be what he was after, again: no wonder Draco was so angry, Voldemort would not require an heir if he was going to live forever. Yet that answer didn't quite sit right, there was peeved and then there was homicidal, even given Harry's assessment of the wildly fluctuating Draco, what he had seen tonight made him pause at such a conclusion.

Harry was still musing the question when he realised that he was in trouble. Footsteps came up the aisle next door and headed around the end of the shelving. Harry scrabbled to his feet, and then froze as he came under the scrutiny of his old friend. The distance between them hit Harry squarely between the eyes as he took in the once close comrade. Ginny had been just nineteen the last time he had seen her, but the intervening years had aged her beyond her years. The face surrounded by flame red hair was the same, and her skin showed few lines, but her eyes spoke of a maturity created by the horrors of war. Harry also saw himself reflected back in them; the young woman's gaze began at shock, and her mouth opened to call a warning. Yet Harry raised a hand in supplication, and recognition stalled the cry ready on Ginny's lips. The witch seemed conflicted, and her companion could see the dreadfulness of his appearance in her stare. It must have been difficult to reach through the dirty clothing and unkempt exterior and see the Harry Potter who was beneath. Harry wondered if he was frightening: the water he had been allowed had not made much impact on the grime of torture, and neither Brutus, nor Villainous had had a wand or the inclination to wipe it away with magic. That is what he blamed when he saw the recognition disappear below alarm, it had to be that, he couldn't believe anything else when the shout finally made it out of Ginny's mouth.

"Enemy!" the woman yelled, and Harry's heart broke a little further at the hardness that came to her face.

Wondering how much further down he could go, the young man ran. Ginny Weasley just stood and watched as he dashed past her and back towards the exit. He didn't make it to the doors. The patrols had not gone far enough to miss the shout, and six armed wizards stormed into the half-lit room. The fugitive halted rapidly and headed for the cover of the book shelves as wands were lifted high. Six independent curses, from stupefaction through body binds to the blasting curse, came at the young man, and he ducked as books flew off the shelves in his vicinity. Some of the larger volumes bounced off his back, and Harry stumbled away from them with a yelp.

Already tired and thoroughly demoralised, the escapee's coordination failed him, and he careered into the case behind to his left. After that he had no hope of controlling his momentum, and with agonisingly slow determinism, Harry felt himself follow the movement of the tall furniture as it toppled away from him. He braced himself, but it didn't stop the painful rush of breath that was forced out of his lungs as his ribs contacted with wood. He coughed, growled and then scrabbled for his footing again. Yet a hard, superior voice commanded, "Give it up, Potter."

The young man pushed himself off the messy pile of books and wood, but another warning came, "Stay still!"

Harry had been around these people long enough to know it was only going to get more painful if he tried to get away, so he limited the immediate damage; he slumped against the fallen case and looked over to his pursuers.

[There will be another chance,] he told himself, and set his features to the silent defiance he had been perfecting over the last few days.

The front almost slipped as Ginny came up beside his enemies; she was clutching her book like a shield across her chest, and her gaze was somewhere between curious and perturbed.

"Thank you, Weasley, go about your business," the same arrogant tone was given an owner in a wiry, greying man who was stood forward of the two parties.

Ginny immediately turned on her heel and hurried back the way she had come. Harry just glared at the wizard as his smug gaze was levelled on him, it was better than wondering why his friend had not even given him another glance.

"You're going to make me a Master Enforcer," the leader gloated over his fallen prey; frankly, the young wizard couldn't have given a damn what rank this man was in Voldemort's Death Eater order, or his ambitions. What he did care about was when the adversary raised his wand.

"Stupefacio," the spell came, and Harry collapsed with a sigh that was grateful for small mercies.  



	4. Going Down a Level

From his short, but edifying experience of torture chambers, Harry knew he wasn't waking up back in his cell. He could feel the constrictions on his body, and before he was even really conscious, his mind had brought up the wall of rebelliousness which protected his ego from his tormentors. Thus he came from oblivion with a snarl on his lips, and an instinctive flex at his bonds. The response from his masters was laughter; the young wizard relaxed, as his brain caught up with the futility of his fight, and he relaxed his bare back against rough wood, gritting his teeth to bolster his defences in opposition to their ridicule. The captive was lying on a table, held by ropes at ankle and wrist, and he realised with mortification that he was naked.

"Welcome back, Potter," Lucius sneered, his shadow falling across the table. "I can't believe you wanted to leave our little family, just when we were getting to know each other so well."

Harry just stared up at the ceiling, struggling to ignore his situation. Yet he knew his cheeks were burning and the cut of rope as it ran between his wrists and under his neck, reminded him of his spread position. He flinched as Malfoy's leering face came close to his, and the other man smiled in triumph as he recognised the vulnerability in his prisoner.

"That was very naughty of you, attacking Brutus, our healers nearly lost him, but he will be back with us soon, and I'm sure he'll want to punish you himself." Lucius' smile became wider. "However, in the mean time, you have to learn that there is no escape from the Dark Lord. You are his, you will be his until he sees fit to put you out of your misery."

Harry growled his denial, Voldemort would never own him. Lucius merely laughed again, and went to stand straight. His captive relaxed away from the encounter, but then cried out as the tyrant's fingers wrapped themselves into his hair and yanked his head backwards. The man's eyes flashed with anger and he declared hotly, "You will learn obedience, Dog. You will remain as naked as the day you were born until you accept your place."

"Go to hell!" the young man yelled back, and contorted as Lucius threatened to break his neck.

He gasped and struggled, his hands reaching up off the table, pulling at the ropes to try and stop his oppressor.

"Sir," Villainous made himself known with a tempered interruption which surprised both of the combatants.

Lucius released his victim instantly and glowered at his subordinate; Villainous just stared back at him for a moment, and then indicated to the wall. Harry's ego sank even further, he'd known his archenemy would have wanted to be here, but Voldemort's gloating always seemed much worse than that of his lackeys. The young Auror had fought him so many times, one on one, that this time, his faceless presence, from wherever it was that he was viewing all this, gave no real opportunity for interaction, no chance to have him experience his defiance at close hand. Without that layer of self-protection, Harry only felt more vulnerable.

"Well, well," the supercilious voice mocked as Lucius stood back to give the Dark Lord full view of his helpless captive. "It appears that we have moved down a level, Harry. I hadn't expected to reach this point for a while yet, but your defiance warranted punishment."

"I will always defy you!" Harry snarled, trying to hide how well the punishment was working.

Voldemort ignored the retort, and merely continued in an indulgent tone, "When my people told me that you had tried to run, I have to admit that I was impressed by how long you evaded capture."

The prisoner frowned at the glowing stones, unsure where the compliment had come from. However, it was only a means to an end as Voldemort continued, "You won't get another chance, and you will pay for every hour my Death Eaters wasted searching for you. Lucius, entertain me."

Harry closed his eyes and braced himself: Cruciatus, they always started with the bone-jarring pain. Yet it didn't come. Malfoy laughed into the tense pause, and drew his captive's frustrated attention. He pursed his lips in fake contemplation as he read the uncertainty he had generated in Harry, and offered, "Getting predictable, am I, Potter. Well, let's try something different: Accio Serpens."

The parselmouth drew in a hasty breath as he heard a sibilant voice from the end of the table between his ankles, "Master, Vipera is here, Vipera wishes to serve."

"Introduce yourself, My Love," Voldemort responded softly.

Harry lifted his head and strained his attention to the foot of the table. He relaxed back into position, his breath and heartbeat coming faster as he registered a small, vibrantly green snake uncurling and making her way towards his right shin. He didn't know what kind of serpent she was, he didn't really care, he'd learnt a decent respect for her kind since discovering his ability with parseltongue.

"Hello," he decided to try and make contact.

"Who speaks to me?" the question came as Harry felt a light brush on his leg.

"I do," he tried not to panic with the stroke of her scales on his leg as her warm body rose up over his flesh.

"Ah, my master's enemy," the little creature sounded almost amused as her movements sent ripples of sensation out across his thigh; Voldemort's low chuckle reached them both as he listened to the conversation.

"Are you my enemy?" Harry asked, lifting his head to check the snake's progress visually.

Her small crown rose off his skin and shifted from side to side a moment, and her tongue flicked in and out as though she were regarding him. The reptile did not reply, and the young man collapsed back against the table, gasping uncomfortably as she slithered down the curve of his inner thigh and then up across his genitals.

"Do I frighten you, My-Master's-Enemy?" the teasing question came as her progress paused in the mass of dark hair above his groin. Her tail flicked against his balls: this snake had been trained to know what she was doing when it came to intimidating a man.

"That depends on what you intend to do," her quarry answered, a hiccup in his voice, and both snake and master tittered.

"Master, may I kiss him?" Vipera asked, an innocence in her tone not echoed in her movements.

"As you wish, My Pet," Voldemort agreed.

Harry didn't have time to worry what Vipera meant, he felt the creature flex, and then tiny, but razor sharp teeth buried themselves into the thin layer of flesh over his hip bone. He cried out as pain flowed unnaturally from the wound, flooding the surrounding area and making him shake with its fury. His teeth gritted without his consent, and his whole body convulsed as the bite site became irrelevant. Harry's world went silver and his senses descended into agony. Yet he returned to the world quickly, in time to hear the laughter of his captors.

"Exquisite, isn't she, Harry?" the Dark Lord observed, admiration in his tone. "The serpent is such a versatile and adaptive creature. Their venom is a fascinating toxin, and you know how useful I have found it in the past. It took me years to breed the magic into Vipera's line, generation by generation a little more. My loyal followers maintained her family for me while I suffered my exile, and after I was restored, I returned to my experiments. It is only in the last few years that I have perfected this little one."

Lucius smiled triumphantly at the first words he had been able to understand since the snake appeared. Harry glared at him for a moment, a distraction from the animal which had begun to glide further up his body.

"Did you like that, My Enemy?" Vipera backed up the adversarial position she had displayed with her actions in her form of address.

"Do you care?" Harry spat back, coughing as his body continued to spasm intermittently.

The little snake tittered again, and spoke like a seductress as she whispered, "Some find me intoxicating. My touch may become addictive."

"I don't think so," the prisoner countered, and then his breath was snatched away by another cry as the creature bit again, this time above his ribs.

He bucked and contorted, desperate to throw off the feather-light serpent as her silver agony lanced through his body. Yet her bite held fast until his rearing became a weak shudder and the metallic tinge disappeared. This time, Harry groaned as she relented, his head light and the world spinning. There was more to this magic than pure pain, the helpless man could feel her venom spreading out through his body, altering his perception.

"Dance with me, My Enemy," Vipera enticed, her long, sibilant sound pulling him further into her world.

"Go away," Harry hissed back through gritted teeth, able at least to push her influence out of his mind if not his body.

"My master shall become your master," her soft voice tried to draw him in again as her small head came to rest on his Adam's apple.

Harry choked at the tickling on the sensitive area of his neck, but answered definitely, "No."

Vipera did not seem perturbed by his refusal, in fact, her tone was light as she slithered up over his chin and observed, "Master, our enemy resists because he understands my words."

"No matter, My Precious," Voldemort returned, something near infatuation in his tone; Harry barely drew breath as the snake's tongue flicked lovingly against his lips. "His mind is too dull for your charms."

The prisoner looked down his nose at the out-of-focus blob of green that was the serpent, uncertain what was to happen next.

"May I kiss him again?" the little head lifted away from his mouth for a moment, stretched out to the enchanted wall.

"Yes, My Pet," the Dark Lord indulged the snake like a spoiled lover.

"Thank you, Master," she replied, moving her head from side to side again over her prey, choosing her moment.

Harry watched her hypnotic swaying, unable to really see her, but captured by the movement none-the-less. Despite the forewarning, he was not ready for her touch when the serpent struck her love bite onto his bottom lip. He reared as her magic touched him again, his sound lost in a spasm caused by the immediacy of her kiss as it daggered straight to his brain. Rigid with her venom, Harry lost reality completely as silver went quickly to black.

The young man came round what had to only be seconds later, because Villainous was now beside him, reaching for Vipera, who was rubbing her victim's cheek lovingly.

"Goodbye, My Enemy," she whispered as the gaoler lifted her away, "maybe we shall meet again."

Harry just coughed, drawing in much needed air that the seizure had prevented. Villainous laughed at him, drawing his prisoner's attention by holding the loosely coiled reptile out in front of him one more time. The young wizard knew he showed his disquiet at the closeness of the delicate source of pain and his guard drew the creature away with satisfaction. Lovingly, he kissed the tiny animal and then carried her over to a basket from whence she had to have originally been summoned.

Harry was given no time to recover from the snake's bite, as Lucius decided he had been left out long enough and bellowed, "Crucio!"

Any thoughts of the animal wiped clean with the all-encompassing agony, and its subject simply screamed.

* * *

Harry pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders, using it as a shield against the insignificance which was threatening to destroy his spirit. He would not bow to this twisted system, he was better than these perverted monsters, he was a Gryffindor.

[A Gryffindor in the new and improved Gryffindor Tower,] the young man mused, but caught himself and stomped on the cynicism.

He winced as he drew his knees up closer, trying to hold in some warmth: he'd woken up in his cell after what had seemed an endless session, mended by some faceless healer, but his body still reminded him of the way Lucius and little Vipera had made him pay for the inconvenience of an escape. The thin grey coverlet gave precious little protection against the cold held in the walls, but Harry had nothing else. He was determined not to be grateful to his gaolers for seeing fit to leave him with it, he knew it was just a small bone thrown to their dog to stop him from going mad just yet. They didn't want that so soon, they had a plan, he could see that now, bit by bit, inch by inch they were drawing out his humiliation, and they didn't want it blinded by madness or disability. Cruciatus was being used sparingly and all of his injuries so far had been able to be magically healed when coupled with a few hours rest. Their scheming was really quite sickening.

[I will not break,] Harry told himself, bolstering what anger was left amongst the disbelief and self-doubt.

He adjusted his glasses unconsciously and glared at the world around, and then it reached him how odd he must look, a naked man curled in the corner of a cell in just a blanket, but wearing carefully protected spectacles. Another little joke by his captors, no doubt, they wanted him to be able to see his nightmare. The young wizard just gritted his teeth against that one and decided to focus on nothing.

The trance was surprisingly easy to create, and Harry discovered how long he had been sat in one position when he jumped at the sound of the door being unlocked. His already sore muscles cramped at having been left to atrophy, but the young man planted his feet on the floor and stood up to meet the intruder: he wasn't going to show any weakness. However, his fight drained a little with more confusion as he recognised his visitors; Draco, ghosted by the ever present Crabbe, walked in to the room, still tall, still well-dressed, but with something about him which made him a little less threatening than the last time he had been in the tower.

Harry didn't like the feeling seeing this man gave him, it weakened his defences, but he couldn't stop it. He knew it had to be in his expressive features as he stared silently at the blond man, but he felt a little better as he saw it reflected back at him. Draco didn't like the connection between them any more than he did, and it came out in his tone as he taunted, "Very heroic, Potter, just like you to try something so completely foolish. There's no escape from Hogwarts."

The derision would have been very effective had it not been for the self-defeat that Harry could now sense from his adversary.

[Has he tried?] Harry caught himself wondering with a vague disbelief.

The younger Malfoy seemed uncomfortable with his own tone, and he broke eye contact for a moment, pacing further into the room. He'd put a gloating smile in place when he lifted his gaze back to the discourse, and began again, "I hear it was Ginny Weasley that gave you away, must have been such a blow to be betrayed by someone you trusted."

The blond faltered again, and Harry saw pain dance across his features this time. The prisoner stayed silent, more than a little fascinated by the way Draco was defeating himself. Malfoy reached for another taunt with, "Such a pretty girl, too, and the Imperius Longevicus curse can be so effective in so many ways."

His failure to make an impact was clear in Draco's features as his opponent was inadvertently given a lifeline for Ginny's treachery, but then as he looked deeper, Harry wondered if the slip had been a mistake.

[You were never this confusing at school, Malfoy,] the prisoner mused wryly. The lack of threat made him bold, and he asked out loud this time, "What is she doing here?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, Harry just straightened his shoulders and dared him not to answer. His contemporary seemed to be considering how to react, and Harry could see the switches in his personality warring for control. Yet, it appeared that their connection won out this time; he turned to Crabbe and ordered, "Out."

The large man looked from Draco to Harry and back again, and the nominal superior disdained, "I can handle myself."

The slow mind took its time deciding on whether to obey the person with whom, Harry had gathered, he did not have a simple master-servant relationship.

[Both of us prisoners,] the man mused as they waited.

Then Crabbe's face settled into an affirmative, but he fixed Draco with a look of half protection and half warning as he agreed, "Just outside."

The younger Malfoy watched his body-guard leave, and only as the door closed behind him did he turn back to Harry. His stance was even less adversarial as he finally answered plainly, "Ms Weasley began digging into archives that other people more prudently ignored. She and Flintarrow didn't take note of the writing on the wall that said the Dark Lord was interested in their area of research, and so when they got close enough to be help or hindrance, he had them brought here so that they'd be a help. That happens a lot in this country now."

Harry could see that Draco was trying for detached derision, but it came out more like revulsion. However, the captive chose to ignore it for now, this was useful information, and so he dug a little more. "What were they researching?"

"Orb of Eternity," slipped between Malfoy's lips before he realised what he had said, and annoyance crossed his face.

"Oh, the Hand of Life, I heard them talking about it last night," Harry nodded quickly, unwilling to let the slip up stop his companion from revealing any more. He'd learnt to play mind games over the years as well, and he threw in, "Powers like the Philosopher's Stone: I can see why Voldemort would be interested."

The young man knew his play hadn't worked the moment he fell silent, as a sneer contorted Draco's face.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he snarked coldly. "That orb is more dangerous than you can possibly imagine."

"You did mention that," Harry snapped back, remembering the bruises Crabbe had inflicted on their last visit. "And given your attitude, I suppose it affects you, you always were self-centred. Well you made this bed, not me, so you can lie in it."

"You think I had a choice?!" the younger Malfoy yelled, and Harry saw any protection, which he'd had from their midnight communion, fall away in rage. "I never had any bloody choice," Draco growled, lowering his voice, but not his ire. "We're the same, you and I, pawns in other people's games."

That admission gave his opponent ammunition against Draco, but in truth, Harry was too stunned by the vulnerability that came through the anger that he missed his chance. The prisoner watched as in a heartbeat, Draco's defence mechanisms kicked in and a wall of derogatory indifference came between them. "At least I picked the right side, Potter," the pampered adversary won out, "I get to do what I like, within my limits. I've learned to live in the moment, it can be very liberating."

The look in his eyes was dangerous, but Harry defied it, annoyed that he had lost the useful connection.

"Consequences never were your thing, Malfoy," he chose to dig back.

"Wake up, Harry," the wild-eyed Death Eater condescended with a snort. "We're not at school anymore. Times have changed, darkness is winning, and if you bow to it, life can be good. You stand there with your bloody moral pride and what does it make you: nothing. You're lower than a house elf."

"And what are you?!" the Auror challenged hotly.

"Your master!" Malfoy yelled and he moved in.

Harry was caught unawares by the action which had suddenly exploded from the words, and he was pushed backwards into the wall by an incensed body before he found his wits to fight back. Yet, before he could respond, he froze in dread, as the violence took on new depths and harsh, demanding lips met his. For a moment, the victim's brain refused to define what was happening, he could feel the firm, definitely male body forced close to his, but could put no name to the assault. It took the stroke of a hand running up his thigh, under his only protection for Harry's disgusted instincts to catch up. With a cry of horror, he pushed back, and Draco's lighter form separated from his.

Harry shuddered, his limbs locked into the shove he had just made as he watched his attacker leisurely step a few paces back, laughing. The younger Malfoy had the same glint of confidence in his eyes that his victim had seen in his father, it spoke of his knowledge of control.

"You're so attractive when you're vulnerable, Harry," he drooled, lust in his ice stare.

The young wizard shivered again, unable to hide his shock and abhorrence. He dropped his gaze in an attempt to hide some of the nerves Draco had uncovered, but regretted the weakness as his opponent took the advantage with, "That's better, Slave, respect your superiors."

Harry glared back up at the self-amused figure, but received only a wide-eyed flash of appreciative blue in return.

"But I like a little fight," Draco found an answer for even his defiance, and the prisoner sagged against the wall.

He knew he couldn't fight this, whatever Draco wanted, Draco would get, he held all the cards. Yet at Harry's subjection, the blond man's smile disappeared, and something seemed to snap back into place behind his eyes. Harry just let confusion join the sickness taking over his body as he recognised the superiority slipping away from his adversary. Then he felt nothing but relief, as Draco turned and stalked towards the door. Still, the young man kept his eyes firmly on the fashionably clad back all the way, and caught a breath in his throat as his tormentor paused at the door. Draco didn't look back, and Harry couldn't read the emotions from his voice as he told him, "I'll be seeing you again, Potter."

The door closed and as his knees turned to water, the shaken prisoner sank slowly down the wall.  



	5. A Storm after the Calm

Boredom had never been an option Harry had considered when he had thought about his possible fate at Voldemort's hands. Yet, as he stared at the ceiling for the umpteenth time in what he guessed was about two days, he realised that it was setting in. Since Draco's visit there had been no sign of father or son, and Harry was trying not to dwell on the why, but just be thankful for a chance to recover from the emotional and physical abuse. During the respite he had been given, his mind had drifted from the immediacy of defiance, and he'd found himself listening intently to the dripping of water on the tower steps, which told him it was raining outside, or working out the path of a beetle across the floor. The young man had no idea why he'd been left alone for so long, neither Villainous, nor the temporary replacement for Brutus had said anything about Lucius' absence from the tower. So it was that he had slowly lulled into the uneasy calm, which saw him sleeping most of the time.

Now, he thought it was night again: Villainous tended to be grumpier when it was dark outside, and he'd lashed out on both of his previous visits, so Harry assumed darkness. Water sounded like it was pouring onto the steps further up the tower, so Harry was imagining a storm raging outside with all it's lightening flashes and thunder claps. It wasn't Quidditch Weekly, but it kept his mind active.

However, the storm did not stay inside Harry's head.

Harry threw himself into a sitting position as the door slammed open. Brutus was stood in the opening, and his whole demeanour spoke of vengeance. Quite aware he was now prey, Harry raised his arms in defence as the heavy man charged over to him, but decided that, considering the near homicidal look in his assailant's eyes, saving his strength was a safer option than fighting back. Brutus grabbed his prisoner by the collar and literally threw him towards the door. Harry crashed into the wooden panel, and landed in a dazed pile at its foot.

"Hello, Pup," the gaoler snarled, grabbing him before he could move from his heap and snapping on the chain. "I got a bone to pick wiv you."

Harry knew this was going to be rough, but could do no more than go with the pull which sent him flying out of the doorway and into the corridor wall. He groaned this time as he saw stars; Brutus replied with a satisfied hrmph. The stairs proved even more painful as his captor proceeded to bounce Harry off every available surface, some of which had corners. Bruised, and uncoordinated, the captive was dragged into the light of the old common room and collapsed onto his hands and knees in the wide open space in which his subjugator placed him. The chain was slipped through an iron hoop on the floor, and then Harry realised the format had changed again. Nervously, he looked up at Brutus, who was stood, hands on hip, a little way off; behind him stood Lucius Malfoy and Villainous, and yet further back the wall glowed with Voldemort's presence.

"Our little family is complete again, Harry," the Dark Lord greeted. "Brutus is all better, and he wants to show you how he feels about what you did."

The large man drew a whip from his belt, a grimace of anticipation on his bent features.

"Get up, Pup," he ordered, his relish for his work telling in his voice. "I'm gonna make you dance."

Slowly, Harry climbed to his feet, eking out the moment as best he could to gather his wits for what was to come next. He met Brutus' hot stare, the adversarial nature of this encounter enhancing his resolve. His opponent was an ignorant, loutish bully, and the look in Brutus' eyes reached right for the captive's fighting spirit. He twitched only once as the whip was cracked inches from his feet: whatever pain this man was going to inflict, Harry decided there and then that he would not give him the satisfaction of capitulating to his will. The second strike caught him on the ankle, but the young man trapped an exclamation in his throat, and shivered away the hurt.

Brutus did not look impressed that his victim had not tried to avoid the lash, and his retaliation came with a thrash to Harry's thigh, and Harry did move then. He turned away, enough to protect his naked groin area from a direct hit. The next strike came across his shoulders as the tormentor took advantage of the untouched flesh the shift had exposed. With the more solid contact, the young man let out a rush of breath and his shock gained a vocal aspect. Brutus, as unimaginative as always, went for the same attack again, satisfied with the more definite reaction he had gained. Harry ground his teeth, a grunt his response to the tearing of the leather on his back. At the moment of impact, his knees threatened to give out as the pain removed his motor functions, but he caught himself and merely wobbled.

It was his torturer's turn to vocalise his effort, and Harry heard Brutus wheeze as he put all into another lunge. The young man heard the crack of the whip first, his mind blocking out the hurt for a moment, and then he cried out as his skin from middle back across his buttocks split under the vicious strike. He shook and felt himself falling. Breathing hard, Harry collapsed to his hands and knees. Brutus was now too intent on his quarry to consider any pause for effect, and the next two cutting slaps created their victim into a quivering ball. The whip-master gave him no time to recover from one strike before the next rained down, and Harry could feel the world beginning to slip away as his senses were overwhelmed.

Yet his release did not come.

"Stop!" Lucius ordered, and Harry whimpered as his senses spun, but remained painfully intact.

The young man saw Brutus' feet turn rapidly around to face his commander, and heavy breathing told the wizard what he did not need to see, that he was not happy at being halted. However, Malfoy seemed to be in the mood to cajole, because he breathed easily to his subordinate, "Patience, Brutus, you must pace yourself and your prisoner, else it will all be over too quickly."

Harry didn't know if the sickness that came to him stomach was due to the pain or his mental reaction to Lucius' calculated speech. He'd never thought of Brutus as a torturer-in-training before, but as he considered the observational role the ugly creature had taken in most of the sessions, the slave came round to that conclusion. It was emphasised when Lucius suggested mentorially, "Something to reinforce, perhaps?"

Harry closed his eyes as Brutus's feet disappeared from his view. He tried to block out the uncertainty, it only made him feel worse, but he shrank from discovering what was coming next, and remained in his foetal ball. His back was stinging, and he fought to keep his breathing shallow to limit the movement in the raw wounds on his body. However, Brutus had had a bright idea and was enthusiastic in carrying it out.

Harry gagged as a hand grabbed the chain close to his neck and yanked him into a kneeling position, and he gasped as every cut and abrasion told him where it sat on his flesh. Yet the pain went from residual to mind-blowing in an instant as a hand flattened against some of the larger wounds on his back. There was something grainy between the tormentor's skin and his own, and it sent burning agony lancing down into the cuts. Harry screamed and writhed against the touch. Brutus' loafing laugh taunted him as the large man held him up against his legs, revelling in his convulsions. The young man couldn't breath, couldn't see, everything was just pain, and, inundated with the horrendous input, Harry swooned.

* * *

When the grey of his faint began to recede, Harry could feel himself being lifted. He complained as uncaring arms lifted him easily and dumped his uncoordinated body onto a wooden surface, but he could do nothing more than shift weakly as the soreness of his back objected to being forced down onto rough grain. His wrists were already in bonds as the young man came all the way from unconsciousness, and he did not even have time to adjust his position as Brutus pulled the rope taut and forced his hands down either side of his head. Harry kicked at the grasp which took hold of his left ankle, growling at the attempt to restrict his world even further. He received a bone-jarring thump on his knee from Villainous in return and his leg went weak. He groaned, and didn't resist as Brutus took his second foot and slipped it through the enchanted ropes. Yet, once he was left in the exposed position on the table, Harry flexed against the constraints a couple of times, his defiance still strong, but he knew his effort was pointless, and his body still hurt, so he settled.

Lucius Malfoy's aftershave was deep and musky. It filled Harry's nostrils and added its own insignificant confusion to the mass of disquiet that rested almost permanently in his psyche, as the tall man leant over him. Lucius leered at him, and there was something new in his eyes, a new venom: Harry went that little bit colder.

"Brutus is still learning, but he has a naïve talent for this work, don't you think?" Malfoy's observation would have sounded whimsical if it hadn't been for the ice in his tone. "The salt was an inspirational touch."

"Does that make you his muse?" Harry found his own acid tongue and taunted right back; whether intentionally or not, the two-day respite had given him back some spirit.

The retort surprised his captor, and amusement came from a very unexpected place as laughter filled the room via Voldemort's portal.

"Well done, Harry," the Dark Lord condescended, and his subordinate stood away from the table to give him full access to the prisoner. "I am glad your mind is still sharp, this could become so quickly tedious without that indomitable Gryffindor spirit."

The young wizard stayed silent and stared up at the blurry ceiling. His thoughts were distracted by his discomfort and degradation, and he wasn't going to fight for wisecracks to bandy with his enemy. Voldemort seemed disappointed as he teased, "Not going to play, Harry? And I had been looking forward to this through all the inconvenience of the last few days."

"Things not going to plan in your great new dictatorship?" Harry surprised himself as he picked up on his captor's slip.

There was a pause, and the prisoner took it as a minor victory. He didn't believe the ease in his tormentor's tone as the arrogance came again, "Much better, My Slave, you can be entertaining."

"Maybe you should concentrate more on running a country than playing sadistic games," Harry pushed some more, finding his stride, "but then you always did look at the small picture. Who else would spend most of his time trying to kill a kid?!"

The young man laughed derisively, but the sound caught in his throat as a fist came down on his chest. He coughed as Malfoy became Voldemort's defender and leant back in.

"We have plenty of time for destroying the pitiful group that call themselves a resistance, and for enjoying you as well," the man snarled. "In time, they will all suffer like you are now."

"Good will never give in," Harry spat back, his eyes blazing with his vehemence as the outburst gave him a link to others who shared his enemies. "They will bring your evil to its knees."

"Comprimo," Lucius cursed, and no more would come out of his victim's mouth.

Harry gasped as pressure constricted around his ribs, and forced the air out. He thrashed about to try and lift the force, but his exertions only caused him to pant, and the attack refused to give him back any breath he let out. The young man weakened quickly as his vision began to spin, and his back hit the table again, his bones almost at breaking point under the suffocation. Only then did Malfoy let up. Harry heaved in oxygen and let the bright spots in front of his eyes blot out his oppressors.

"Darkness always wins, Potter," Lucius whispered close to his ear. "Heroes like you are always too willing to die for their cause."

Harry knew he would be punished for any defiance, and his voice only came out in a thin cough, but his manipulation of his captors had given him back some touch with the world outside. There was a resistance in this land, and so there was in him as he hissed, "Only in your dreams, Malfoy."

* * *

Harry came round as his face was batted from side to side. It was a strange sensation, since he didn't really remember passing out. He'd been taken to and from the edge of oblivion so many times by the maddened Malfoy that when it had happened, he couldn't tell. Now he felt a little like a cat's toy, at the mercy of a light, teasing play, and he knew it wasn't the intensity of Lucius who woke him. His temporary confusion turned to alarm as he recognised another blond-haired head looming over him. Draco was smiling intimately, and he ran his hand down over his toy's chest as he was recognised. Harry shrank from the touch, but it merely became more intense, and he could not help but show his distaste as teasing fingers played over his left nipple.

"Hello, Potter," Draco breathed, only inches from his face, "did you miss me?"

The helpless man could find no response. Lucius and Voldemort posed one kind of intimidation: Draco quite another. Draco was a wild card, with the emphasis on the wild, and he had shown how depraved he could be. Harry could not help but show him the fear that his attention inspired. The victim had no idea what his tormentor would do next, but he managed to hold back the plea for mercy which hung in his thoughts.

"Draco," a female whine became Harry's unexpected saviour; the moment between dominator and dominated was broken, and with mild annoyance, Draco stood straight and looked over to the source of the call.

A young woman, her skin pale against the black silk of her dress and the raven purple of her hair, was hanging off a disinterested Crabbe's arm. As soon as his attention was on her, she minced forward on lethal stilettos, and slid her arm around Draco. She pouted sexily at him as he reciprocated. Harry swallowed hard and reigned in the feeling of sideshow freak as her eyes then ran slowly from his feet to his head. She licked her full, crimson lips and her eyes flashed as they passed over his abdomen. The young man shifted awkwardly, especially when Draco's attention drifted over his body as well. His female visitor smiled at him as she met his gaze, excitement in her open-mouthed expression.

"He's impressive," she drooled, rubbing up against her companion.

Harry snapped his head back to stare at the ceiling, unable to hold her stare; the degradation of nudity was something to which he had become accustomed, if not comfortable, around his torturers, but new eyes made all the difference to his humiliation.

"Does he speak?" the woman asked idly.

Draco laughed at that and taunted, "Do you speak, Potter? Be polite and say hello to Melody."

The young man ignored the order. However, his puppet-master had other ideas, and intoned coldly, "Say hello, Potter, before I do something you'll regret."

Harry glanced back at Draco and knew the threat was real as soon as he met those ice blue eyes. The younger Malfoy may have been slouching a few feet away, enjoying the attentions of his companion as she lazily nibbled at his ear, but his stare was firm, and it told him how ready Draco was to do more than just physical damage.

"Hello, Melody," the prisoner murmured in monotone, and he quickly turned away from the triumphant domination in the other man's face.

Melody giggled.

"Does he do anything else?"

Lithe as the cat with his mouse, Draco uncurled from his partner and leapt onto the waist-high table. Harry stared up at his dictator, the finely cut clothes and civilised haircut doing nothing to combat his images of the monster that lay beneath. Draco stood across his hips, his eyes flashing as he leered down on his helpless quarry, while Melody laughed excitedly at her impresser's game. Harry pulled at the ropes on his wrists, hoping against all probability that they would give enough for him to slip out of them and defend himself. He could feel the panic rising inside his chest: this wasn't some carefully engineered torment, this was a spoiled brat with overly developed psychotic tendencies; there was no point in saving his energy to try and out last this torturer.

"What else can you do, Potter?" Draco taunted, his expression holding very little sanity.

The blond man sank rapidly into a crouch and rubbed a hand across Harry's cheek; the prisoner shied away. Draco didn't like that, his fingers dug into Harry's chin and the face that he had turned away was brought back to meet that of his bully. The young man could hide nothing from Malfoy, his panic wiped away any self-control, and Draco revelled in his fear. He rolled forward onto his knees, and drew in a lustful breath as he closed his legs around Harry's rapidly rising and falling chest. The supine prey choked back his disgust at the feel of Draco's muscled thighs against his ribs. His breath disappeared as effectively as if the touch had been the Compressius curse, and yet this time there was no pressure, just an insistent flex of toned muscle. Hopelessly, he strained away from the brush of fingers on his face that Draco's grip became again.

"Don't you like that, Slave?" Malfoy spoke, a thick desire mixed cruelly with tease.

Harry found himself drawn in to the depravity of the other man's gaze, no physical compulsion, but sheer horror driving him there. He had seen this creature at his lowest ebb, lost in despair, and his own vulnerability searched desperately for some crack in the mask above him. His hope was low, but his need was large, and Harry risked the fear Draco generated effortlessly in him to find something with which to fight. Harry found it, buried deep behind Draco's shields, but he connected with it none-the-less. For a moment, it confused him, despite his wont, he had not expected to find an ally in the dominating stare, but then it gave him strength. The hidden fissures in his tormentor's armour returned hope to the bound man, and with it came anger: he would not take this, he was not a plaything. Suddenly, Harry flexed and twisted his torso, pushing up against Draco with every ounce of strength he had left, he felt his muscles complaining with his ferocity, but he didn't care.

"Get off me, you perverted Son of a Bitch!" the captive growled, developing rage in his new defence.

Draco bucked sideways with the violent movement, and only a swift grab at Harry's shoulder stopped him from being tipped off. The young man tried to shrug his touch away, but his body was too restricted to have much effect. He reared again, but the edge of surprise was gone, and his captor's grasp just dug into his flesh. He lost any power he had briefly gained as Draco sat back on to his stomach and forced him by sheer weight to lie flat. Harry thought he saw anger following the shock of his retaliation in his opponent's eyes, but it didn't emerge all the way, instead, Draco chose derision: he laughed.

"Sticks and stones," the younger Malfoy sneered, and patted the shoulder in which his fingers had left impressions.

"You're your father's son, Malfoy," Harry charged, wanting to raise the fury he had seen behind his adversary's stare.

He discovered that he had guessed the right button as a hand came swiftly across his face. His cheek stinging, he glared defiantly back up at the silent wrath which had made it to the surface. Draco glared back, more phased than if he had been physically tipped off. Harry had won, he knew he had won with that little observation, but he let the feeling of victory slip away into relief as Draco climbed off. He relaxed, breathing hard, feeling slightly lost and cold as the warm body moved away. He stared back up at the ceiling, not caring what happened next.

"Hurt him," Melody's intoxicated little plea drifted over to him.

He glanced at her: she was now wrapped back around a still fuming Draco, her excitement undiminished as she appeared to have missed or be ignoring her partner's silence.

"It makes me hot to hear a man scream," she murmured silkily, rubbing up against her lover.

Draco's face broke into a grin as she kissed him lightly on the cheek, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"What Melody wants, Melody gets," he began to recover from his momentary defeat. "Crabbe, Cruciatus."

Every cell exploded, and Harry gave Melody exactly what she had requested. He writhed helplessly, his muscles tearing against his bonds as the agony cut his being into a thousand pieces. The world dissolved for as long as Crabbe dared with the dreadful torture, and its victim didn't want reality back when it came. He collapsed onto the table, drained of energy and most thought. His head lolled to one side, and through half-closed eyes he saw the effect of his torment on the dark woman; he wondered idly if she and Draco would strip there and then from the sheer lust that was coming from their embrace. Frankly, he didn't care, and that last thought disappeared as he closed his eyes and welcomed oblivion.  



	6. The Knife of Truce

The wall had a face in it: Harry could see it now, in the shadows that the strips of guttering light created in the stone work. It was a man, old like Dumbledore, but without a beard, only a long droopy moustache. The ancient cracks in the blocks gave him wrinkles that no amount of vanishing cream could counter, and his eyes were sunk deep into odd-sized sockets where the granite had crumbled. The nose, well there wasn't much of one, not against the huge eyes, and his lips were thin and half hidden by the moustache. It wasn't an attractive face, but the stone man had character, Harry decided. He smiled to himself and wondered if he should introduce himself. That was where the isolated prisoner caught himself.

[What am I thinking?] he mocked himself grimly. [A few more weeks in here and I will be muttering to myself like those poor old tramps round King's Cross.]

With a small sigh, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall behind him. Of all the horrors of his incarceration, one of the worst to Harry was loneliness. Even in exile, although not surrounded by his normal network of friends, he had made new contacts and acquaintances. Harry Potter had been a lonely child before Hogwarts, but he had found his own stimuli and distractions in the Dursley's home. Now he had neither companions, nor diversion, and, as it was supposed to, his mind was beginning to play tricks.

Distraction, when it arrived, however, was less welcome than the boredom. Harry started at the sound of the door being unlocked and braced himself in case Villainous or Brutus was feeling particularly vicious. The person who appeared in the doorway was, however, neither of the two gaolers. Harry sat up a little, not sure whether to be nervous or amused; he hadn't seen a woman since Melody's uncomfortable visit what he thought was a few days ago, and he had no wish to be a spectator sport again, but the female who entered the room, tapping her wand animatedly on her sleeve, did not inspire the same kind of disquiet.

She was tall, with cherry-red hair, and was possibly just thinner than a broom handle. That, however, was not what made Harry smile, despite his now habitual unease with visitors. The newcomer was wearing the most outlandish set of robes he had ever seen: they were in the normal Death Eater purple and black, but unlike most of her fellows, this woman had taken purple as her main colour and then added random patches of black, which made her look like a rather expensive scarecrow. Beneath that she was wearing a yellow dress and lilac jack boots, which would have at least matched the lilac hat she had perched at a ridiculous angle on the side of her head, but for the fact that it sported an orange feather. Her makeup was a minor relief, she wasn't wearing any.

The woman's eyes flicked over to Harry, and she pursed her small mouth as her gaze ran over his unkempt, blanket-wrapped state.

"This is he?" she asked in a shrill, impatient little voice, tossing her head violently back to the shadows of the door so that she threatened to knock off her hat.

"Yes, Madam," Brutus' dull voice came from the corridor.

"Very well," she huffed, her shoulders twitching in hyperactive annoyance as if she had expected something totally different to the quiet man who greeted her. "Stand up then," she snarked, waggling the tip of her wand.

Harry did as he was told, somewhat bemused by his anarchic-looking visitor, but unperturbed.

"Forward," she urged him away from the cot, taking a step back herself, crossing her arms and pursing her lips in consideration.

The young man just stood very still as she proceeded to walk around him, knowing that Brutus was watching him from the shadows. By the time the woman had made it all the way round and back to her original position, her frown had become an arch-eyebrowed expression of inspiration.

"Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, hmm," she mused, tapping her wand again, "a start perhaps, but clean first"

Harry followed the incredible sweep of the female's wand, but really didn't know what to expect as she announced, "Purgo!"

For a few seconds it felt like sandpaper was being rubbed over every inch of his flesh, and Harry dropped his blanket in shock. Something pulled at his hair as well, and he reached up to protect his scalp. However, it was gone with another wave of the wand, and a call of, 'Vestio'. The young man took a rapid step back from the strange woman as the surprise of cloth covering his skin closely after so long without made him feel strange. Dumbly he looked down at himself, and saw a uniform he hadn't worn since school: he was now wearing the pale corduroys and striped jumper of Gryffindor's Quidditch robes. He frowned: what game was being played now?

Brutus stepped into the room as Harry grimaced, and the prisoner glared at him instead. Brutus' look was much the same as that which Crabbe gave his charge when challenged, a mild warning. The young man chose curiosity over annoyance as the caution sunk home, and so he asked, "Who are you?"

The woman blinked at him for a moment, obviously surprised at being addressed, and then she seemed irritated.

"If you had any culture in you, Young Man, you would know who I am," she chided arrogantly. "I am Flounce de la Ruffette. My designs are legendary, and quite frankly if the great Lucius Malfoy himself had not asked me personally to provide a favour, this type of petty little job would be below me. As it is, stand still and shut up, I have to create."

"What's going on?" Harry continued, unimpressed with the artiste's snitty attitude.

However, Madame de la Ruffette was busily budding her fingers at the bridge of her nose and had begun muttering to herself in some kind of designer-mantra. Brutus just crossed his arms and smiled knowingly as his prisoner glanced questioningly his way. Harry knew better than to repeat his plea for information; he hadn't been hit yet, but his gaoler didn't need much of an excuse. So he just frowned back at the vaguely comical female who had begun pacing up and down in front of him. All humour had left him with the mention of a Malfoy, no matter how weirdly unthreatening this all seemed now, he knew there was something bad at the end of it.

"Auror," Flounce suddenly announced as if she had had a revelation, and then she waggled her wand and repeated, "Vestio!"

The hang of his official dress robes felt very strange in his current circumstances, and Harry grabbed at the material, checking he wasn't dreaming.

"At-ta-tat!" his dresser scolded, "Leave!"

The young wizard dropped his hands to his sides, aware that this petty woman was not worth bruises, and merely showed his disdain. She scowled back at him, and then smiled. "Lacero!"

Harry gritted his teeth as he heard the ripping of cloth; he'd never been the neatest when it came to maintaining either of his uniforms, but deliberate defacing insulted what they stood for. He was beginning to understand that derision was Flounce's remit, and closed his eyes in disgust as she repeated her last action and more fabric tore apart.

"And those sleeves," the woman informed her uninterested company, "a little longer, I think. Prolato."

The woollen sleeves of his jumper slipped down over the young man's hands, and he balled his fists inside the now concealing yarn. Harry glared at Brutus, who was now grinning as if he was watching the funniest joke he'd ever seen.

"Pads on the legs," Flounce mused, stepping in random directions around her subject, eyeing his bare feet like a sculptor, "but with bells. Vestio!"

The jangling instantly filled the quickly disheartening wizard's ears as he shuddered away his frustration; he didn't need to look down to know the feel of the leather pads and boots on his legs, and he didn't want to see the additions which made the sounds. The designer laughed and clapped her hands in delight as she satisfied her own ego.

"Perfect," she decided, but then ran her eyes back up to Harry's face. "Those glasses: prolato." The frames became heavier on his nose, uncomfortably so, and the young man felt the glass of his spectacles resting against his cheeks. "And finally, we must have a hat. Vestio."

More bells, Harry could hear more bells, and then a long, half-stuffed point of a gold and red jester's hat fell across his face, and as it went past, he saw the shape of the bell: it was a lion's head. The young wizard would have gone for his new tormentor then, his temper out-performing his prudence at the multiple insults to his memories, but Brutus was not always as thick as he looked, and stepped in as he saw the snap.

"Easy, Pup," he chided, clipping on the familiar chain and placing his hulk between his prisoner and the oblivious Death Eater. "The Master wants you lookin' good tonight, and we wouldn't want you to have to visit a healer before we get where we're going, would we?"

Harry just glared at him, rolling back onto his heels and sagging from the fight. Whatever was afoot, it was light in comparison to his normal encounters with Lucius Malfoy, and he couldn't muster the same type of defiance to it, he was too confused by the new twists.

However, he did spin round as a hand started pulling on his robes and he heard more ripping. Flounce had surprised both her companions by slipping round behind Harry to carry on her adjustments. She took a rapid step back as his irate face a foot away from her own finally told her self-absorbed brain that she could be in danger. The prisoner managed a moment of eye contact with the woman, and was satisfied by the shock in her manner, but then Brutus yanked on the leash and in a rustle of bells, he was reigned in to the other man's body.

The odour of Brutus' unwashed hide would have been enough to knock out an elephant and it was an effective method of pacifying Harry. He relaxed his stance almost instantly, and offered no resistance to the draw of the lead. For a moment, he held his breath as he was held closer to his gaoler's body, but then he let it out as he was given back control of his position.

Flounce had had enough, she backed out of the room, the new dimension to her creation having drained the colour from her face.

"My job is done," she tried to be grand, but the quaver in her voice defeated her object, and with one more glance at her mocking artistry, she fled.

The low rumble that was Brutus's laugh filled the space where she had been, and he patted Harry's shoulder.

"You frightened the silly lady, Pup."

Feeling even more confused by the odd praise, the wizard wondered if Rotweilers felt like this when their owners used them to intimidate other people. He looked sideways at the mirth in the bully, but decided that comment was not worth the bruises.

"Come on, Pup, some people want to see you," Brutus informed him and then dragged him towards the door.

* * *

Harry stood outside the Great Hall, stared up at the enormous doors and tried to reign in his trepidation at being back here after his last experience inside. He had been stood next to Brutus in front of the doors for some minutes, still none-the-wiser as to his fate, and to add to his list of suspicions, he had been hearing sounds of revelry coming from inside the room as the occasional human servant slipped in or out. As far as he could tell, there was a lot more light coming from the chamber than last time, and he did not catch sight of any swathes of black silk during the moments when the door was open. In fact, he had come to the conclusion that a banquet was under way.

Frustrated and nervous, the young man swiped at the hat-point which fell across his face for the umpteenth time. He ignored the attention that the jingle of the bell drew him from Brutus and a couple of hovering footmen, and began hoiking up the annoyingly long cuffs that Flounce had given him. He knew he was being irrational when he experienced more exasperation than trepidation, but everything about his current situation felt trivial and had felt trivial since the designer had appeared in his cell. Lucius Malfoy was playing games, and frankly, Harry didn't want to join in. It was like being at primary school again, when the bullies had made fun of his glasses, or his baggy clothes, and the old feelings were overriding any new dimensions that the adult mockery could have.

However, very suddenly, Harry came right back to ground. The door opened and a man slipped through, giving the thumbs up sign to his fellows and waving towards Harry. Following him, came the voice of Lucius Malfoy, full of the pomp of his position, and his prisoner chilled at the sound.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he began and the sounds of conversation dropped away in time with Harry's childish self-protection, "Ladies and Gentlemen, as you all know, the Dark Lord and myself have been entertaining a guest here at Hogwarts for several weeks now."

A titter ran round the room, and their visitor ground his teeth.

"And we decided that it was time he returned the compliment."

Another snicker, and Harry drew in an unhappy breath as the doors were finally swept wide open. Laid out before him was, as he had guessed, a banquet. The Lords and Ladies of the new era were sat at long tables similar to those he remembered from school, but they were arranged in an almost complete square around an open centre: and with dread Harry recognised his destination. Through a table-length gap which lay opposite the entrance, Harry saw the upper table, slightly raised above the rest on a rectangular dais, and felt his feet root to the spot. Bedecked in his leadership finery sat Lucius Malfoy, and on his right, clothed from neck to feet in midnight black, lounged The Heir Apparent.

Father and son in triumphant unity was more than Harry could take, and he resisted the initial pull on his collar into the room. His refusal to move was so strong, that Brutus heaved on the leash to inspire movement, and the prisoner's entry into full view of the gathered company was violent and onto his knees. A gasp of surprise came from more than one table, as Harry crashed to the floor just on the edge of his unhappy stage. The ridiculous hat flew off and landed a few feet in front of him, and he stared at it, trying to stop his face from burning as the atmosphere around him built. He could feel every eye on him and his skin prickled as shock slowly drained from the wizards.

Harry gritted his teeth again, fighting his mortification as the silence was broken by a snort from one direction; then a scared little giggle joined it from another, and a third chortle added to the sound. The mockery snowballed from there, and full-blown laughter erupted, swiftly followed by applause. Harry had a flash-back to the ceremony at the Ministry, as similar jubilation in another's misery rolled over his shoulders. He tried to grab on to the memory of the white-hot agony which had taken away the sickness this kind of joy inspired then, but he could not reach it. So he just stayed still, a statue, while his ridiculers laughed.

Harry didn't dare look up, he knew his degradation would be in his face, and even as the guffaws became titters and died out to silence again, he remained motionless. Then he heard leather soles on hollow wood, and he knew his Lucius Malfoy had stood up.

"Welcome, Potter," the man sneered, "you seem to have lost your hat. Pick it up and come in properly."

The centre of attention took hold of the foetal anger the off-hand order gave him and with the practice he had had during his imprisonment, he made it grow. Slowly, he raised his head, filling his expression with contempt for his enemy.

"Pick it up yourself, Malfoy," Harry hissed back.

Lucius raised an eyebrow, but did not seem overly perturbed by the defiance. Instead, he drew his wand and his victim braced himself.

"Silencio!" the man intoned, and Harry gagged as he felt a pressure on his throat.

Instinctively he tried to sound his discomfort, but nothing came out of his mouth, not even a gasp. More laughter, and Malfoy grinned victoriously at his prisoner. Harry glared at him, and was rewarded by another quick charm which dumped his hat back on his head, precariously over one eye, only stopped from falling lower by the rim of his glasses. The Death Eaters showed their appreciation with another round of applause. Brutus took the opportunity to drag his captive to his feet and forced him centre stage.

Lucius gloated until Harry was in position, and then his gaze moved over Harry's head as he addressed his guests, "Ladies and Gentlemen, at one time or another, we all need to practice our charms and curses..."

Harry's attention drifted from the leadership tone which the tall man began, and onto the much heavier gaze of his son. Draco was sunk into the large wooden seat he occupied next to his father's, and his stare was intense. A smile played across his lips, feigning amusement along with his fellows, but as his adversary met his eye, he showed him the coolness in his attitude. After waking up from Crabbe's last attack, the young wizard had taken a long time to gather his wits from the more intimate assault given by the younger Malfoy, and he knew it was in his face, both the left-over vulnerability and the resistance he had found in his enemy's own weaknesses. It sat at the back of Draco's gaze as well, and Harry was more than a little satisfied to note that his antagonist's manner, held still more fissures, although they were well camouflaged.

Yet, Draco was not going to back down, even though the knowledge they shared could weaken them both, and it was locked in silent combat that Harry had the first inkling of what Lucius had planned for him. He had been so intent on Draco, that the prisoner had missed the father's speech explaining his intent, and so the initial enlightenment he received was in practical form. The curse which came at him barely registered in his hearing as a deep voice, and it was not from Lucius, but someone behind him. He choked soundlessly as the spell took effect and something foul-tasting filled his mouth. Harry spluttered, bent double, retched and spat out a large, wriggling toad. The animal landed on the floor to gales of giggles, swiftly followed, again, by the hat as the prisoner heaved and spat involuntarily to get rid of the noxious juices in his throat.

"Bravo!" Lucius encouraged, throwing himself back into his chair, "an interesting start Karakus. Would anyone else like to stretch their casting arm?"

Harry recovered quickly, straightened to his full height, and glanced rebelliously around at the gathered company. Not many would meet his blazing eyes.

[All cowards,] he accused silently, until he met gazes with Draco again: the younger Malfoy was many bad things in Harry's book, but he wasn't a coward, and the captive gained an odd strength from the challenge in his stare.

Someone stood up to his left, and Harry turned to meet his new tormentor. It was a woman. She was tall and curved, attractive if it hadn't been for the darkness in her face. Her subject dared her to cast, and she met his ultimatum with an amused flash of her eyes and, "Salto."

Harry watched his own hand fly out from his body in a sweeping movement, and then his legs followed in a graceful, dancing leap. However, without his brain providing co-ordination, the landing was not as easy as the launch, and the bewitched man staggered forward as he hit the ground. Before he could steady himself, another dramatic gesture took him into a second dance-movement and he twirled helplessly on the spot to rapturous applause. This time, the puppeteer controlled the step out of the turn, and the puppet pranced straight into a low dip, sweeping up the jester's hat at the same time.

Harry struggled with the invisible strings, but the charm only wrapped itself tighter, holding his arms out in front of him, bearing the hat like some adored trophy as he skipped in a loose circle. The clapping grew a rhythm in time with his hops, and the young man felt his indignation rise again. The step faltered as his anger met with the spell, falling behind the beat, and Harry focused harder. The next footfall skidded across the floor and he glared up at his puppeteer. Her face said she recognised that she was loosing the battle, and the young man found himself quickly in a flourished bow to his audience. The applause thundered again, with cheers of approval. The prisoner let out a soundless grunt and fell to the floor as he was released and discovered that his legs had turned to water.

"Very impressive, Lucretia," Lucius approved warmly, putting his hands together lazily. "On your knees again, Potter, just where we like you."

Harry bit his wordless tongue and chose to ignore the older Malfoy in favour of the younger. Draco was still slouched in the same position as before, but his smile had slipped and he was staring fixedly at the entertainment. The blank gaze was the same as that which Harry had seen the night of the ceremony, a wall against everything, and he wished he could reach that kind of catatonia. The blond blinked a moment when he noticed he was also being inspected, and his eyes hardened to ice. Harry looked away again and waited hopelessly for the next attack.

* * *

This had been going on so long, that Harry wasn't sure what was his body and what was illusion. Still the wizards tittered as he buffooned, produced amusing items from his mouth, ears or nose, changed shape, grovelled silently in pain. The young prisoner was tired, too weary to fight the spells anymore, and too low to wish for anything other than it to stop. He lay uselessly on the ground, letting the fur disappear from the extremities of his fingers as he returned from some kind of transfiguration.

Slowly he raised his eyes to catch those of his now constant watcher, Draco Malfoy. The man was his one diversion from the monotony of humiliation, a curiosity because of the emotional turmoil that Harry could now see just beneath the surface. Draco hadn't moved once from his seat, and his stare had been fixed for so long, his subject was surprised when he looked across and did not meet gazes. Draco was compulsively slicing an apple with what looked like a very fine steak knife, his attention, to Harry's disappointment, now as rigidly focused on the fruit as it had been on him. Only Crabbe, ever present body-guard, seemed to have noticed his charge's sudden obsession, but even he was more interested in the show.

Lucius Malfoy was far too engrossed in the total subjugation of his captive to take even a glance at his son, and with an impatient wave of his hand, he gave Brutus his orders, "Up, up."

Harry clambered to his exhausted feet as he was choked in to it by his gaoler. He sagged as soon as the lead was slackened, barely managing to stay upright, and waited. However, his head snapped up as he heard a voice he wasn't expecting; neither was anyone else, because silence fell as a spoiled whimsy announced, "I'm bored with this pathetic playing."

Draco uncurled from his seat, much to the stunned amazement of the gathered company, and he stretched with a carefully designed laziness. No-one seemed to see it, the sheer madness in his eyes, no-one expect Harry Potter, who just stared at it.

"This needs something original," Draco announced, eying his victim, "something dramatic!"

Harry felt the pain before he had even registered that Draco had moved. A sharp, tearing sensation in his stomach, and he looked down to see the silver-handled knife protruding from his abdomen. Blankly, he gazed back up at the man who was still holding the throwing position, unable to quite believe what had happened. For that long moment, there remained stunned silence and Harry saw, once and for all, the despair behind Draco's psychology. Then all power left his body, and he fell into a surprisingly responsive Brutus' hold.

All hell broke loose. Women screamed, not for the captive, but for their own hides as they realised what the Dark Lord would do if his toy died. Healers dashed over to the injured prisoner as his bearer laid him on the ground; others crowded in, ogling. Lucius Malfoy glared at his unrepentant, unresponsive son, before he too strode in to make sure his people were doing their jobs. And in the midst of it all, Draco stood alone, as alone as his old adversary, and just watched. Harry lost his ice-blue stare as hands grabbed him and rolled him on to his back. Only then did the real pain of the wound impinge on his dim senses, and his voice still lost to Lucius' spell, he let out a soundless scream and passed out.

* * *

His voice being back was a small comfort to Harry as he heard it groan his pain. The sound brought him all the way out of unconsciousness, and into a very sore world. His stomach felt like it had been pulled inside out, and when he glanced down to check, he found his abdomen wrapped in a red-stained bandage. Now more than familiar with the not-breathing-too-deeply technique of least painful existence, the young man relaxed back onto what was, for a change, a soft bed, with a mattress, and pillows and even a pure-white sheet, which was protecting his once-again, naked modesty, at least up to the bandages. This was not his cell, that much was evident without glasses, and more out of habit than expectation, Harry reached across to the bedside table. He was pleasantly surprised to close his fingers around his spectacles, which were the right size again (another small mercy in the new dimension of pain Draco has discovered for him).

Harry slipped on his glasses, using his hazy curiosity for his surroundings to blot out some of his discomfort. It didn't go very far to dulling the throbbing from his wound, but his slow gaze around the new room told him exactly where he was. As a boy, the wizard had seen enough of the inside of Madame Pomfrey's sickbay to know that he was back there now.

[At least some things don't change,] Harry thought to himself, looking around at the old ward, which was now empty except for the corner in which he was installed.

A head poked around the office door with the same kind of second sight that Madame Pomfrey had used to know when her patients were awake. Except, this time, the face looked more annoyed than concerned, and Harry braced himself as the rotund man in white apron came charging over to his bed.

"Don't move," he ordered exasperatedly, as if Harry was supposed to know what had irritated him. "Don't move you aren't all healed yet. I'm having to do it in batches, don't move or you'll undo it."

"It hurts," Harry admitted weakly.

If he had expected sympathy such as that which Madame Pomfrey always provided, he was sorely mistaken, because he just received a withering look from the Healer and a condescension, "Of course it does, you've been stabbed. Now lie still and it won't hurt so much."

Harry groaned as an excessive lance of pain struck out from the injury, and he was given a tut in response.

"Please," he begged, in no condition to fight the agony and appealing to whatever had made this man turn to healing in the first place.

The tut became a frown, but Harry's completely open confession of hurt reached well-buried compassion, and the wizard huffed, "Alright, alright, stop bleating, I'll prepare a draft for you."

The patient tried to say thank you, but the message wouldn't make it out of his mouth and so he just fought to obey the Healer's command to stay quiet in case disobedience led to withdrawal of the promise. After torture, the young man was surprised to be so distracted by the pain of just one wound, but this hurt was natural, and unrelenting.

Harry dug his fingers into the sheet as the longer he spent awake, the more the stab wound distracted him from everything else. He began by watching his carer as the man went about his business mixing the pain relief, but in the end, the young man closed his eyes and tried to make everything go away. There was no hatred here to allow him to block things out, and after the cruelty of the banquet, Harry had little fight of his own left. He whined again, he couldn't help it as needles ran out from his stomach.

"Come on," a softer tone pulled him back out of his personal hell, and a hand slid under his head.

Harry gulped at a bitter liquid which was in a beaker placed to his lips, desperate for the relief it offered, and then he looked up at a ghost of a smile. The Healer had clearly rethought his indifference, and patted his patient's shoulder as he cajoled, "It should take effect in a minute or so. You will require another couple of treatments, half day or so, to heal the wound, but you should feel more comfortable soon."

"Thank you," Harry whispered; at that, the carer looked embarrassed, and quickly shuffled back to his office. The young man closed his eyes again and waited for the potion to do its job.

* * *

He was feeling much better and Harry dared to take a deep breath for the first time since waking. Julian had completed the second healing treatment an hour ago, and the shallower wound was being more effectively masked by the Healer's own blend of pain-relieving herbs. However, the magic could not return his strength, and the patient drifted in a half-dose most of the time, while being checked intermittently by his carer.

Harry had decided that Julian Maersmith was a contrary person, who hovered between detachment and a truly compassionate attitude to his charge. The young wizard could understand his quandary: why bother fixing someone who was going to be damaged some more at a later date anyway, he'd seen the reasoning in a dozen medical personnel who had treated him since his arrival at Hogwarts? Certainly, investing concern for such an enemy of your master's was a futile gesture; Harry was, however, glad that the healer had decided to do so.

Over time, short bursts of conversation with his patient had led Julian to reveal that he was one of a team of Healers working for the Death Eaters in the castle, and he had drawn the short straw this time in having to mend Voldemort's special prisoner. The old medibay had been opened just for the perverse purpose of fixing Harry Potter so that he could be tortured some more. Julian quite clearly couldn't comprehend such an ethos, and was therefore partially hostile to it. Hence, his conversation was sometimes almost friendly, and at others professionally cold.

At the moment, Julian was being efficient, and was buzzing around the room on some unnamed task, ignoring his patient. Harry watched him through half-closed lids, as the rustle of his robes was disturbing his shallow slumber, trying to work out exactly what he was doing without reaching for his glasses for a better view. A wave of the Healer's wand was followed by a spark appearing a few inches from it's tip, and there was a smell of burning. The young man knew better than to interrupt the concentrated effort his companion was putting into disregarding his presence, it would only mean a huff and he would disappear into his office, and Harry was appreciating the break from trying not to think about the pain.

However, it turned out not to be him who broke the Healer's bustle. He registered Maersmith's sudden halt, but could not tell the emotion behind it. That came through his tone as the man greeted fearfully, "Sir, I-I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

Harry glanced over to the door, and his own emotions did a somersault into a mess he couldn't quickly decipher. He couldn't see the face, but the outline of Draco Malfoy was distinctive enough, even before the Heir spoke.

"Healer, what are you doing?" he asked derisively.

"Killing flies, Sir, I need to keep the place clean."

"Yes, it is a bit of a mess up here," the blond man observed, walking in to the room from his place at the door.

Harry grabbed his glasses and slipped them on; he wasn't sure if Draco's disdainful stare at his subordinate was better than the blur, but his natural caution around this psychopath made him decide that it was safer to keep them on and be able to judge what was happening.

"C-can I help you with something, Sir?" Maersmith stammered, his fear obvious as he glanced from his master to his patient and back again.

"Don't worry, Healer, I don't wish to damage the prisoner anymore than I already have," Draco was nothing if he wasn't observant, and Harry watched the lip-only smile carefully. "Go in your office and close the door."

The hardness that came to Malfoy's gaze challenged defiance, which was, quite frankly, totally absent from the cowering medical man. Draco just watched as, wordlessly, the stout man scuttled past him and into his office. The door slammed shut, and Harry held his breath as his adversary's attention rounded on him. For a moment, both men stared at each other, their attitude nothing but leftovers from the seconds before, but then the injured man saw Draco's eyes gain some emotion.

"Sorry, Potter," he murmured, his gaze openly vulnerable, and slightly confused.

Harry let out a shuddered breath, surprised at what he was hearing and totally thrown by it. He blinked at his companion, trying to understand the conflicts behind his eyes, but all he could find in himself was, "Thank you for stopping it."

However, if he had hoped for some clarity after the initial exchange, he got none, because Draco's blond head shook, and there was a sad little smile on his lips as he enlightened, "I'm sorry I missed: I was aiming for your heart."

The words were like another knife, as his enemy took advantage of his vulnerability for another attack. He had seen the pain in Draco, he had understood it, how could he be so cold? Harry reacted angrily to his interpretation of his statuesque visitor's information, and he growled, "You're a bastard, Malfoy, just like your father."

The attempt at a cutting remark did not work as well as it had a few days ago, there was no violence, no quick end to this playing with words. Harry was forced to understand his counterpart a little more, and he couldn't help a pang of guilt as he registered sudden pain in Draco's eyes at his verbal assault. This didn't make sense, his enemy had been his usual snide self, hadn't he? Yet his tone had held none of the fire of their previous encounters, and Harry realised that he was the one trying to be cruel.

"I didn't think you'd want to wake up again," Draco admitted plainly and any rage drained out of Harry in the chill of the thought that he was probably right.

Why was he fighting to stay alive? He tried to bury the idea that maybe death would have been better, it didn't make him feel very nice, and just stared at the other man in stony silence. The younger Malfoy seemed as confused as his companion; he was hovering a little way off from the bed, stuck somewhere between honesty and self-protection. However, there was a need in him, Harry could feel it, something was breaking inside, and the watcher was not sure if he was about to receive a threat or a confidence. He waited. Draco barely moved, but his eyes shifted away to the floor as he observed morbidly, "At least you have death to look forward to."

Harry could have let his anger return at that, but he chose to take the admission as what he thought it was intended, a bridge. The young man who stood before him wasn't the belligerent, nasty creature who had attacked him in his cell, this was the human being beneath every layer of protection, a figure he had never seen clearly before, and that person wanted to talk.

"What do you mean?" he merely asked for clarity.

Draco looked back at him, clearly unsure if there was animosity behind Harry's question. Harry remained honest, allowing him to see the muted disquiet that this new encounter had created. He did not trust the mood of his companion. It was not that he wasn't sure it was sincere, it was merely that he had seen the switches in Draco's personality often enough to doubt its permanence.

"Being the Heir doesn't mean I will one day inherit Voldemort's position," the young man disclosed quietly, a bitterness in his voice. "It means that once Voldemort is satisfied with my body, he is going to take it. Death was one of the most unlikely, but best scenarios I could hope for until the Orb was brought here, now there is a good chance my soul is forfeit as well as my life."

Harry was surprised again by the open confession, and a little of his distrust dropped away. He knew he was risking another fall by continuing the conversation, but the frankness reached for his own isolation and made him reckless. Even so, he chose not to test the fragile strings by which he knew Draco was hanging on to sanity: he chose not to push for the other scenarios yet, instead, he reached back to their first moment of contact.

"The ceremony I saw, was part of what will make you acceptable to Voldemort?" Harry asked.

Draco smiled, and for a moment, his companion's heart jumped into his throat as he pre-empted a switch. However, it was not an expression of snide self-protection, it was merely sad again. The blond man looked away, conflicted, Harry judged, by his memories of that night, and explained, "An ordinary body isn't enough for Lord Voldemort, he wants the most powerful body this world has ever seen. That ceremony was only one way they've been pumping me full of magic since He chose me."

"How long?"

 

"Since my eighteenth birthday, hell of a day that was," Malfoy's tone became hard as his anger came through, but his piercing eyes were misty now, and Harry knew he was fighting strong emotion with the new edge, and for once he wasn't afraid of it. "I haven't lifted a wand since then. There's all this magic inside me, and I can't use it."

Draco was rubbing his wrist compulsively, and his companion now realised what the marks on his wrist were, they were bind runes, they were keeping the magic in. Harry was appalled as he was given a glimpse of the other man's life; it didn't justify the younger Malfoy's actions, but it did make his victim comprehend them. He'd been living on the edge for years with no future, surrounded by propaganda that set him up as some kind of prince.

"Crabbe?" Harry prompted as silence threatened to interrupt the connection.

"Makes sure I don't do anything fatal," the young man shrugged, and their link slipped anyway as indifference slid in to mask all Draco's emotions again and he found some kind of equilibrium. "I'm not allowed near potions anymore either."

The dark-haired wizard frowned at the implications of that statement. Even he hadn't reached that depth yet. He was not begging for death as his only way out, and it made him go cold to discover that Draco had gone so far. He didn't like the shield his companion was using, either, denial was a dangerous thing, and he found himself not wanting it to separate them. Yet, it was too late, and Harry surprised himself with the regret he felt when Draco turned away with, "I have to go, Crabbe won't wait outside for ever."

"Draco," Harry grabbed for the momentary unity as he realised that his loneliness had abated for those few moments; the blond looked back over his shoulder curiously, and his companion opened and shut his mouth as his brain refused to give him anything to say.

What could he say to this man, they were enemies, on different sides, and yet they were the same? The younger Malfoy seemed to understand his silence, however, and he answered the confused loss with, "My father has gone away. That banquet was the start of a week of public engagements. I have at least the appearance of authority here. I will see what I can do to get you out of the tower for a while."

He started walking away before Harry had really had time to catch up with his words. The young man dared not believe them, but still he watched the disappearing figure, unable to completely discredit a hope that began in his spirit.  



	7. Respite

Draco hadn't come back, he'd lied, at least that was the conclusion Harry was coming to. He'd been flat on his back under the watchful eye of Julian all day, and then a far less sympathetic witch who hadn't given her name that night, who had gone as far as to restrain him to the bed. Now it was morning again, he had woken into the company of a third short-straw Healer, and he couldn't even reach over and pull on his glasses to see properly what he looked like, as he was still very much bound to the bed. As with most things in his life now, it was therefore not his choice when curtains came rolling around his bed without warning under the watchful wand of his carer. He knew what it meant, since the others Healers had had the same ironic habit of creating the private space in a closed ward, it meant an examination. This new man had not introduced himself, or even checked on his patient since he had woken, in fact, he had spent most of his time talking to the guards on the door who had been introduced as Harry's strength returned. Harry regarded him coldly when he entered the cubicle that had been constructed.

The man was tall, beyond six foot, and his manner showed not even a glimmer of consideration for his patient. Harry looked away as the blanket he'd been covered with for the cool of the night, and the sheet were casually thrown back off more than just the bandages, and then tensed as hands went to the wrappings. The wound was still sore, although nothing compared to what it had been, and the fingers were harsh as they unstuck the dressing. The Healer said nothing at Harry's flinch, but the sigh and sharper tugging on the bond strips told him he disapproved. The young man shifted against the leather straps on his arms as the bandages were unwrapped, and then shivered as his skin was revealed to the air. The examiner pressed around the area of the wound and got a more definite intake of breath from his subject; the knife cut may have been sealed, but it still had some healing to do. However, the Healer seemed to be satisfied with its progress, and he straightened, observing more to himself than Harry, "The work is done." Then he raised his voice and called, "He's ready."

The curtains rolled back with a flick of the carer's wand, and Harry discovered that the guards from outside were now hovering close to his bed. They smirked down at his vulnerable position, and the young wizard glared back at them. So it was back to hell: the conversation with Draco felt so far away, and so false. Harry was mentally kicking himself for being so naïve as to allow himself to hope when a cloth hit him in the face. The straps undid themselves under his Healer's direction, and he scrabbled for the soft fabric which had blinded him. It was a cotton nightshirt.

"Put it on and get up," one of the men ordered.

Bemused, but grateful for the clothing he had not been expecting, Harry gritted his teeth against the twinges from his stomach as he sat up and pulled the shirt over his head. He tested his legs carefully, swinging them off the bed and pressing his toes against the flagstone. He was feeling weak, but his muscles held him as he stood up. Once on his feet, he grabbed his glasses, and shoving them on, he looked over to the three men watching his progress, unsure on what was going to happen next. They weren't the brutes from the torture chamber, these men were wizards, and they were holding their wands like he was about to jump at them any second. However, their prisoner was thankful again, to discover that they were not holding a lead.

"This way," the same voice as last time, which came from the darker of the two wizards, instructed, and flicked his wand towards the door before heading in that direction.

Harry fell in between his two guards, vaguely aware that they were uncomfortable about the job they had been given. However, the young man knew that a bruise-free life was a fragile one, and he wasn't going to risk it by asking questions. He knew he had begun to hope again, and he couldn't resist the small warm feeling in his heart that came with this new dimension to his incarceration. This wasn't like Ruffette's games, the clothing was practical, not for show, and no-one was dragging him around like an animal: he could see Draco's hand in it. If there was nothing else, he found himself feeling grateful to his whimsical enemy for this chance to walk free and tall for a few minutes. Harry straightened his shoulders as his sense of self-worth lifted a little. He didn't look back at the anonymous healer.

* * *

They weren't going back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry was almost sure of that fact as his escort led him stiffly through the castle. It was early, but there were a few people in the halls, some he recognised from the party, and they usually side-stepped the small group, averting their eyes as if he were Medusa. The young man was feeling more buoyant than he had since arriving in the old school, and it showed in his confidence as he stared down those who did not feel it necessary to avoid his gaze. He may have been an unkempt man, barefoot and in a night shirt out of the Ark, but he was not a dog, or an object of ridicule, and he was beginning to believe that again.

They'd been walking for a few minutes, and Harry could now feel carpet, expensive, deep pile, between his toes. This was the guest wing, it had been out of bounds to students, and looking at the dark décor that now ran down its corridors, its visitor judged that it had been refurbished since his day anyway. He chose to ignore the content of the pictures, they were as disturbing as the hangings had been in the Great Hall (most paintings that contained people seemed to dislike him anyway). As soon as one of the portraits had recognised him, a low, hostile hissing had begun accompanying them down the corridor from image to image, and Harry would have found it disconcerting if it hadn't been for the fact that it seemed to unsettle his guards more than it did him, and so he was rather enjoying this new infamy. It was therefore to their relief, not his, when they stopped at a large, well-polished door.

"Inside," came the order, and suddenly Harry was nervous again.

What was on the other side? Slowly, he reached out to the door handle; it turned with a warning squeak, and then the panel swung in without another sound. Luxury was the only way Harry could describe what was revealed as a shove sent him into the room. The door led into the corner of a large bed chamber, and as the door slammed behind him, leaving him alone, the young wizard just stared around. The lush black carpet beneath his feet was so deep it tickled. A fire was burning in a huge grate to his left, opposite which was the largest four-poster Harry had ever seen. A bay window, porting an ebony window-seat let through dappled autumn sunshine which glistened on the purple and black fabrics; Harry couldn't say he liked Death Eater colour-schemes, the interior designer had been a little too concerned with loyalty to the cause than aesthetics, but it was a big improvement on the harsher décor of Gryffindor Tower.

Harry's attention was drawn by a second door in the wall on the nearside of the bed. It was slightly open, and he could hear running water coming from the room beyond. Still cautious about his situation, the young man walked silently towards the second chamber. Any concern he had left evaporated when he pushed open the door, and beheld a House Elf busying himself with running a bath. The scrawny creature was standing on tiptoe, adjusting the flow of two ornately decorated taps into a large enamel bath. He spun around as he realised he had company, and instantly bowed low.

"Sir is early," the elf grovelled, "Leafram apologises for not being ready."

"Hello, Leafram," he answered, leaning on the doorframe, feeling strange about the fear he was inspiring. "It's alright, I'm in no hurry."

His companion looked up at him with his saucer-shaped eyes, clearly not expecting such a pleasant response. Harry was sad to recall when he had seen that kind of cowering subjugation in Dobby, and now he understood what kind of treatment could make a creature so. He smiled at the House Elf, feeling an ironic camaraderie, and continued, "My name is Harry, by the way."

"Leafram knows your name, Sir," the creature replied, the ends of his ears dipping, and he looked as if he were about to cry: he sniffed, running his hand under his nose and then down the old dust cloth he was using as a kind of toga. His tone dropped to no more than a whisper as he admitted, "Leafram and his family were very upset to hear that Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts. Times are very bad."

Harry just nodded, he couldn't really find anything to say to that. Instead, he wandered into the bathroom and picked up a soap. It wasn't a very interesting bar, just an off-shade of mauve that smelled of lavender, but it broke the moment.

"Would sir prefer foaming or non-foaming bath oil?" Leafram turned back to his task.

"Foaming, please," Harry replied, sniffing the soap some more and casting his eyes around the rest of the room.

It was a grand bathroom, bigger than his cell, all silver and ebonised fittings on a granite-coloured suite, and it had been equipped for a male visitor. The young man considered reaching for the razor there and then, he disliked being unshaven, but decided that the bath looked much more inviting as the rumble of the water got deeper and bubbles started to rise towards the top.

"Leafram hopes Sir will find everything he requires," the House Elf bowed again, and then as Harry nodded at him, disappeared out of the door.

"Thank you," the slightly dazed man remembered to call after his helper, and then he looked around again, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

This was really happening, after weeks of horror, he was stood in one of the most expensively decorated rooms he had ever seen, and waiting for a bath to finish filling. Harry laughed. It was the only reaction he could think of, but he fell silent again as he recognised the madness in his tone: he wasn't insane yet. Pushing away the oddness of it all, the young man chose practical things and did what most men did first thing in the morning, he relieved himself. Then he pulled off the night shirt, turned off the taps, and slid slowly into the deep water. His muscles sang instantly with the relaxing pleasure of the liquid and he actually groaned. Every bruise, every ache, every strained ligament let him know where it was, as he shuddered with the heat that ran into his body, but the feeling was exquisite as his tension drained away. The bath was deep, and the young man slid all the way into it up to his neck, stretching and smiling as his feet refused to reach the other end of the tub. He closed his eyes, sinking in to the comfortable sensations and letting them chase away all thoughts of the world outside.

* * *

Harry stared at himself in the mirror for the umpteenth time; he had shocked himself when he'd first seen his gaunt reflection: it wasn't so much the weight he had lost, he'd had some to spare, but it was the new haunted depths to what he'd always considered his best feature, his green eyes, and how large they seemed against his grey skin. The young man had barely recognised himself, and even now he'd finished shaving and had brushed his hair, he couldn't get back the face he expected to see. Mourning a little for the innocence of youth, he looked away and chalked the new shadows up next to those he had gathered since learning of Voldemort's existence.

His stomach muscles twinged as he turned from the sink, and the young wizard glanced down at his abdomen with a grimace. He ran his finger lightly over the top of the angry-looking scar, to avoid which he had slung his towel low around his hips, but quickly drew away again as it complained. He'd had enough injuries during his time as an active Auror to know that the magical healing was going to take another day or so to complete, and it looked like he was going to be left with the scar. Depending on the skill, or care of the healer, the permanent reminder could have been avoided, but Harry was just happy it was no longer a gaping hole.

[Well, now I have two,] the young man mused, and then with a mental shrug, headed back into the bedroom.

It took Harry two paces into the room, enough to clear the curtains at the head of the bed to realise that he was no longer alone. He came to a pensive halt as he caught movement across the room out of the corner of his eye, and then rounded his attention on the tall, midnight-clad figure by the window. Draco Malfoy, turned on his hip away from whatever he had been watching out of the bow, as impressive as ever without even trying, his hands in his pockets and a shallow smile on his lips.

Opposing emotions caused a train-wreck in Harry's stomach as he failed completely to judge his visitor's intentions. He was so grateful to this man, he would never be able to express it in words, and yet he was terrified at the same time. He was still a prisoner, however improved his surroundings, and the motionless, confident figure had been a source of some of his worst memories in recent days. Self-consciously, Harry laid his hand on the fold of towel where it tucked into itself. Draco didn't miss it, his eyes flashed, also a mixture, of excitement and guilt as far as his subject could guess. Then the blond man looked away, back out of the window. The mostly-naked man felt better when he gathered Draco's guilt seemed to have won out, but remained on the other side of the bed, just watching.

"Good morning," the younger Malfoy momentarily broke the silence, and turned fully to his companion once more wearing a very charming smile.

Harry took a moment to respond as the confidence took him by surprise, but then he answered quietly in kind.

Draco continued, "I hope you are feeling better."

"Much, thank you," Harry found his polite voice eventually, and gesturing around added, "and thank you for this."

Draco shrugged, apparently unwilling to discuss it, as he strode away from the window, and began again, "I hope you don't mind the visit, but I brought you some reading material."

The young man indicated to a pile of magazines and newspapers on the end of the bed that hadn't been there when Harry had gone in to the bathroom. The dark-haired wizard glanced down at them a moment, there were a few Quidditch Weekly's and several Daily Prophet's. He doubted that he'd want to read Voldemort's propaganda rag, but the sporting magazines looked promising. He forced a smile, still nervous, but not wanting to seem ungrateful, and replied, "Thanks, it'll be good to catch up on this season's preparations."

Draco stopped at the end of the bed, and Harry was getting the idea that they were both as wary as each other, but his companion just hid it better.

"The league's been going down hill for a few years," the blond man picked up on the easy subject, "but there are some promising new players this season."

"Geldran and Yearly look like they'll make their mark this year," Harry agreed, casting his mind back to the last copy he had scoured before all this had begun.

Draco tutted and shook his head as he barrelled on, "Yearly has a weakness on the left side, he doesn't guard the hoop well enough. Geldran though, hmm, hadn't thought about him, he did well last year, best new beater, I suppose he could do well with Martix gone."

The atmosphere dropped like a stone as both men realised what Draco had mentioned. World famous Quidditch players were not above being disappeared if they started making comments about the current regime, and Martix had suffered a terrible accident that Summer. Harry sighed as he realised that the pretence of normality was not going to work anyway, and he deliberately met his companion's guilty gaze. He chose to be direct, and asked, "Why are you doing this, Draco?"

The blond man frowned at him a moment, unwilling to let go of trivia. Yet, his face cleared to acceptance of the inevitable, and his charm offensive fell away completely. Harry was caught by the depth in his contemporary's eyes and he remembered his own reflection.

"I tried to hate you," Draco admitted, "I have tried ever since you brought that wretched Orb to England, but I couldn't. Every time you beat me, because when I looked at you, I saw myself."

Harry couldn't face that admission, not both the words and the emotion that went behind it, and so it was his turn to drop his gaze. His companion, however, took this as an incentive, and pressed on, "There aren't any sides for us anymore, Voldemort has seen to that."

Anger was easy these days, and the dark-haired wizard found it beginning to well up inside him. Yet, even as he glared across at his host, he realised that the ire was not aimed at Draco, it was aimed at the truth. He didn't want to be the same as this man, he didn't want the connection, he just wanted out: with that thought, the rage died before it had even really begun. There was no out. That idea hurt even more, and Harry buried it with another question.

"Did you want something else?"

He didn't intend his tone to be hostile, but it came out that way. The younger Malfoy's shields came back up, and Harry instantly regretted his cover. He wasn't faced with the maddened, violent man he had seen before, he was shown the charmer as Draco smiled again, and what was worse, he could still see the pained human being below. Yet, he couldn't break through his self-defeat, and so he listened as the blond man answered cordially, "Yes, actually, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind me joining you for dinner tonight." Draco paused, Harry met him with confused silence. Then Harry saw the mask slip again, as his visitor added, "I think we should talk."

Harry just nodded, feeling vulnerable. He gritted his teeth as Draco put on his face again, like he was using a transfiguration spell.

"I will see you at say, 7.30," the younger Malfoy finished, his hands slipping back into his pockets. "I'll have breakfast sent up to you, you must be hungry since I spoke to your Healers and they said they'd kept you on just liquid while they mended your wound."

He turned away, but then he turned back, a grin on his face; Harry took in a deep breath.

"By the way, you may not want to read my father's glory sheet, but take a look at the Editorial on page eight, anyway. It's been ranting about you since you got back, always saying pretty much the same thing, but you have to read, shall we say, to the side of the comments to untangle what they mean."

Harry frowned and kept his eyes on Draco's back as he headed to the door. The train-wreck had been cleared, but there were more emotions on collision course, and he delayed the crash with his focus on the lean shoulders. He was grateful that the young man did not turn around again, he didn't think he could face any more honesty, for the time being, he preferred luxurious denial.

As the door closed, Harry headed rapidly to the bed and grabbed the nearest Prophet. He ripped the front page as he hurried to keep in front of his feelings with the word-hunt, and his hands were trembling as he reached the right page. Harry's heart ached as he read the by-line, Hermione Weasley, and quickly he scanned the article. For a moment he wondered what Draco had been on about, and how his old friend could be so cruel, but then his brain caught up. The young man sat down hard as his eyes ignored most of what was a diatribe about his failings, and ran down the right-hand margin of the text. It wasn't very subtle: halfway down the article, he found a message. The word at the end of each of six lines told him, 'Harry, we love you, hang on.'

Slowly, Harry lay down on the bed and stared up at the dark canopy. His heart was bursting; hope rose in him like a fountain, but it stained red with the horrors he had experienced. Did they have a plan? Was there a chance he could be free again? How long could he hold on? Doubt and the chance to live again clashed inside him, and the prisoner could only close his eyes and bite back tears.

* * *

The carpet still tickled his bare feet, no matter how many times Harry walked up and down across the room. He'd found clothes hanging in the wardrobe, black silk shirt and leather trousers, but nothing practical like shoes or underwear: he suspected the outfit was Draco's, and what it revealed about his host had not made him feel comfortable about dinner. He'd said yes to the talk, because he had recognised the need in both of them. However, coupled with the memory of Malfoy's intense gaze that morning, the feel of the expensive leather and nothing else against his skin was making the young man wonder if his visitor was going to have other ideas than just chatting. He'd put those thoughts off by reading Quidditch Weekly, all four copies, from cover to cover as many times as he could before he had them memorised. However, the table and all the trimmings had arrived in the space between the bed and the fire about half an hour ago and now he had minutes until his guest arrived, and his imagination was doing overtime. Hence, he was testing the pile of the carpet.

When the door opened, Harry was wound like a clock, and as wary as if he'd been expecting one of his torturers. He stood on the far side of the room, the table between himself and the door, and hovered on his toes. He knew it was irrational, since the stabbing, Draco had offered, thus far, nothing but friendship; that thought struck him soundly between the ears: the prisoner had not even considered what to call this fledgling relationship, and he denied the idea that it could be comradeship. This was a mutual lowering of hostilities, nothing more, that made him feel a little less vulnerable to his emotions. Harry realised that his warring thoughts must have been all over his face, because when his visitor had closed the door behind him, and turned to greet the dark-haired wizard, his smile faltered.

"Harry, is everything alright?" Draco asked, his hand still on the door handle.

The captive opened his mouth, but knew he had nothing that would come out coherently. It didn't help when his companion frowned in concern. Draco's bright eyes were very attractive framed by his angular face, and everything confused in Harry at once. The young man knew he had to stop the new emotional railroad to disaster before it got any further; he'd been working himself up for too long, guessing and second guessing, and he chose the direct approach. Harry couldn't look at his dinner guest, his eyes flew to the ceiling for a moment, as he took a deep breath and asked, "What are your intentions?"

The gasp came out of Draco like a laugh, but it was just an admission of nerves, the same way Harry could hear his heart pounding in his chest as he forced his eyes back down to earth. The blond man hadn't moved, his hand was still on the door, but his face showed an immediate indignation. Harry just looked at him, unsure what emotions were showing on his own features. Whatever they were, Draco seemed to understand them, because his mouth opened, and his lips curled in a shocked smile: it was vaguely sad, as if he'd been disappointed, but his companion was glad for the clarity which came with that effect.

"Harry," the young man began, not coming further into the room, but slipping his hands into his pockets and slouching a little, "I find you attractive."

Harry's heart thundered that little bit faster, and his feet rooted to the spot under the heavy gaze that Draco let show.

"But, despite your experience of me so far, I always ask first."

Harry hadn't realised he was holding his breath until it escaped in a snort similar to his visitor's tension release. Draco raised an eyebrow, but seemed to take what became a cough as a good sign, and stepped further into the room. He pressed on honestly, "I think we need to talk, that's all."

The dark-haired wizard nodded, and then glanced at the breathing bottle of red wine on the table.

"I think a drink would be a good idea," he relaxed a little, and pushed himself over to the table.

He picked up the bottle and began to pour; the wine nearly went over the table cloth as he discovered Draco wasn't finished.

"That doesn't mean you don't look good in leather," Malfoy drooled, and Harry gaped up at him, not sure what feeling the compliment added to the adrenaline already pumping through his veins.

Draco's grin was wicked, and he seemed satisfied with the reaction.

* * *

"...I was a ferret, it was mortifying," Draco shrieked, gesticulating wildly with his glass so that the contents threatened to spill out, again.

Both men laughed at the very old anecdote, and Harry sunk further into his chair, content in the glow of the wine and the fire. Draco was giggling, as he put the glass back to his lips, but his eyes were already drifting out of focus. The easy sound dissolved to a far away look as Harry watched. It didn't surprise him: after four hours of conversation, he was beginning to pre-empt the highs and lows of his companion's emotion. They had switched from light reflections of what had once been end-of-the-world events at school, to the harsher recollections of war with, at first, alarming ease. Harry didn't think he'd done much talking, he'd found it less painful to listen. So it was that he just waited for whatever was sitting behind Draco's eyes.

"I was a stupid little brat at school," the blond man disclosed eventually, sliding his glass back onto the table and meeting his confidant's gaze.

Harry just smiled, Draco wasn't finished.

"I had no idea what Voldemort really meant. I'd listened to my father rant on about the state of our world, how it needed a powerful figure to put it right, but it was all just a game to me, nothing real. Death Eater, it sounded like something from a children's book, and then I met him."

"He's not a pleasant experience, is he?" Harry jumped in to the silence that could have fallen then as he saw his comrade's gaze cloud with anguish.

"You dealt with it all through school," Draco sounded incredulous, and hurt at the same time. "You knew what he was like, and you carried it alone."

The dark-haired wizard would have been embarrassed by the admiration that came from Draco if the ache in his friend had not been so strong. Harry just looked at him, he didn't know what to say. There was no comfort for truly knowing Voldemort, understanding the darkness of what he was capable. He wanted to tell him then, to let this man really know the extent of his burden of prophecy, but no words would come. He sat dumbly as his companion barrelled on, "I never admitted it till I met you again, Harry. This world needs a few more heroes."

"I'm not a hero," the young man denied instantly, as lists of his failings piled into his head at the charge.

"My point made," Draco grabbed his glass again, and threw himself back in his chair as he raised it in salute.

Harry frowned, but his comrade's face broke into a smile as he swigged his wine. The young man only recognised the wicked look for what it was when it was accompanied by, "You're very attractive when you're defensive."

Harry blushed instantly, and slid his chair rapidly back from the table. Draco laughed, his sound low and unconcerned, he had been teasing, Harry knew he had been teasing, but it had surprised him after such intensity, and it made him angry. Getting used to his companion's defence mechanisms didn't mean he had to like them, and the young man glared at Draco before he stood up and stalked towards the window. His guest's chuckle evaporated, and Harry was glad for the slight concern in his voice as he cajoled, "Harry, don't take me so seriously. I didn't mean anything."

"It's late," the prisoner growled angrily, pretending to look out of the window, but focusing on nothing.

He wasn't happy with the way Draco's passes made him feel. He'd been ignoring them up till now, or at least he'd tried to, diverting the subject, or just blanking them, but so close to his own need to confide in his companion, this one had created a tight knot of confusion in his chest. Draco didn't say another word; Harry heard him rise from his seat, and for a moment, the young man tensed as he wondered if he would walk over to him. However, then the door opened.

"Good night, then," his guest concluded quietly, but the captive was too conflicted to answer sensibly.

In so many ways he wanted to carry on talking to the man he now thought of as a new friend, but it was too soon. He didn't know him well enough to confide yet, and he knew that if he opened his mouth, he'd say something to make Draco stay. Trust was a difficult thing. Harry buried his regret in the knowledge of a prisoner as he heard the lock turn to keep him confined.

* * *

Harry strolled out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair absently with a towel. He'd indulged in another long bath, and he'd brooded a bit after last night's semi-abortive dinner, but he'd left behind more than just physical dirt in the tub. In the light of a fresh morning, he wasn't angry at Draco anymore, in fact he was feeling somewhat foolish about his outburst and was considering blaming too much wine. However, his mind flipped back to the present when he realised that the room had changed. He'd slung his clothes in a pile on the floor the night before, and the silk pyjamas which he'd found tucked neatly under his pillow had joined them when he'd headed to the bathroom; the pile was gone. Harry scanned the floor, wondering if he was going to be left walking around in a towel, since the old night shirt from the medibay had disappeared too. However, his concern abated quickly, and he was left feeling more abashed as he saw a new set of garments laid out on the now re-made bed. He wandered over to examine the clothes: linen trousers and cotton shirt.

[Black again,] he mused, but then his interest in Draco's colour scheme slipped to the back of his mind, as he noticed a parcel to his left.

Curious, he picked up what turned out to be a gift box. As he pulled off the top and gauged what was inside, Harry had to laugh. It was a book, battered, torn at the edges, and the image of fast-moving people on the front was faded, but the title was clear enough. 'Quidditch Heroes', it read, and the Seeker in the picture waved at him, the tiny wings of a snitch just visible in his pale hand. The young man's interest was immediately caught, and, pulling the book out of the box, he sat down and flipped it open. The old dust jacket slid back from the yellowed inside cover, and revealed a name printed in bold child's writing. 'Draco Malfoy'. Harry ran his finger over the letters and his conscience twinged like it was supposed to. A small card slipped down the page, from where it had been nestled close to the spine, and the reader picked it up.

'Harry, forgive me,' it read in the same, but older hand of his contemporary, 'I promise not to upset you again.'

Harry smiled.  



	8. Living in the Moment

Laughter seemed to be the best medicine for both of them. Harry hadn't thought he'd ever laugh properly again, but Draco had a good sense of humour, even if it could be a bit too wild and wicked for him to handle at times. The young man chuckled, half at the already forgotten joke that had just passed, and half protectively as the lull in the conversation allowed his thoughts to float back to a recurring consideration for the natural sexiness that oozed from Draco Malfoy. He looked down at the whisky he was swirling in his glass, hiding anything that might be in his face, his friend didn't need any more ammunition for his innuendoes.

They'd been doing this for nearly a week now, and dinner had progressed to long tête-à-têtes in the comfort of the bay-window seat. The two men didn't need the protection of a table between them anymore, they were more or less at ease with each other's body language and trust was beginning to form. Despite his promise, the younger Malfoy had not stopped making passes at Harry, he was a tease if ever there was one, but Harry had found himself less defensive about them. The less gregarious man was not about to follow up on any of his companion's blatant come-ons, despite a warmth that had grown between the two of them, but he didn't mind Draco's attention so much.

Their captivity had drawn the two men together, and Harry couldn't deny that the amount of time they had each spent in their own forms of isolation was giving their friendship unusual dimensions. He had common ground with Draco that not many would understand. Even the younger Malfoy didn't know the full extent of Harry's separateness as he had not gathered the courage to share the prophecy with his companion, but his years in exile among those, with whom he would never share his inner thoughts, had given the young man an understanding of what it meant to be alone in the crowd. Draco had lived with the same kind of solitary existence since Voldemort had chosen him, trapped by what he knew, unable to share it with anyone. Now they were sharing, probably too much for such a short re-acquaintance, but neither prisoner was judging by normal rules.

Harry had to admit that he actually liked the Draco Malfoy he had discovered through their conversations. His propaganda life of Crown Prince, although luxurious, had been one of severe emotional trauma, and from bits and pieces the blond man had let slip, Harry was beginning to understand where his many faces had come from. Draco had been given free reign by his keepers to destroy himself mentally, if not physically, and in fact, his contemporary found himself admiring the strength in his character which had kept him going throughout the years he had lived without a future. The young man was feral, hedonistic: qualities which set Harry's heart racing without even trying, and Draco'd been testing boundaries for years, but the Dark Prince's hopeless situation had stopped him from total anarchy, until that was, Harry Potter had walked back into his world.

A funny feeling ran through Harry as he considered that aspect of the developing relationship. Draco had already explained his emotions regarding his companion's arrival at Hogwarts, but they had not broached the subject of the actual assaults. His companion had sexually intimidated him twice, and yet his actions since had drowned the repugnance of those experiences. In fact, Harry was aware that, despite those initial encounters, he was attracted to the winsome young man. He'd been attracted to men before, momentary admiration of a sleek figure, and he attributed the repetitiveness of the new sensations to nothing more than the confined nature of their current circumstances. Still, his memory settled on the image of Draco, half-naked in the purple-darkness of the Great Hall, and his mental eye ran over those graceful lines again.

The indulgence cost him: with the image also came the emotions which had accompanied it at the time, cold, loneliness, fear. Harry dwelt on the captivity a moment, caught unawares by the mental reminder of the cruel world outside this bedroom. He tried to push those thoughts away again as they spoilt his reverie. His comrade must have seen his smile drop away, because the blond man's own grin straightened, and he asked plainly, "Anything the matter?"

Harry shook his head, and focused back on Draco properly. He couldn't drop the contact with the world of Voldemort so easily, however, so he took a sip of whisky and then asked something that if he'd thought about it too long he might not have risked.

"What is the magic like?"

Draco let in a hasty breath, and he glanced down at his own wrists. The bind runes were actually quite faint, thin grey outlines of the power they held back. Harry wondered if he should have let prudence catch up as he saw the disquiet flick across Draco's features, but then he received an answer, "I don't feel it very often, not once it's inside. They keep it away from me."

The young man made a face as he ran his fingers over the dark magic, and then as though he had been able to read Harry's mind, added, "Going in: well you saw me."

Harry could see the risk that Draco was taking, revealing this emotion, and he didn't want to back away from it anymore. He addressed directly what he had witnessed and observed, "I watched you for a long time, you looked like you didn't want to be there."

"I didn't," Draco put down his glass on the window ledge, and Harry could make out a tremble in his hand. "I never do. I don't want this magic. If these runes ever failed the magic could destroy me, send me mad, transfigure me, any number of nasty scenarios, or I could become the most powerful wizard this world has ever seen."

"But when the ceremony began..." Harry found himself starting the sentence before his brain had caught up, but as his comrade met his gaze, he stopped.

Draco's stare was defensive and held a ghost of an edge, and the young man realised how his words must have sounded. He hadn't meant to condemn by insinuation, he had begun an honest observation. Draco looked like he was about to stand up and leave: Harry didn't want that, there was more to talk about, more to share, and he couldn't bare the thought of his confidant walking out now.

"Draco, I didn't mean to --," he began, knowing he sounded desperate and awkward and not really knowing what he was going to tack on to the end of the sentence. "I-I, it's just..."

Draco's face didn't clear at his companion's fumblings, but his shoulders relaxed a little and Harry trailed off as the minor crisis abated.

"I looked like I enjoyed it," Draco murmured, his tone guilty, and he turned his eyes to the night outside.

"No!" Harry grabbed his attention again, but then at the disbelief in his stare had to add, "and yes."

Malfoy looked disappointed again, but didn't say anything.

"You seemed conflicted."

Draco snorted, a short, dismissive sound, but Harry knew it wasn't aimed at his words, and he didn't like it. He couldn't help himself, he discarded his drink, reached out and took his companion's hand aggressively and growled, "Don't put this on yourself. Whatever they do to you, however you react, it's out of your control."

The blond man shifted in his seat, apparently shocked by his confidant's outburst, and not responding to either the touch or the words. Harry let go and sat back, discomfited and wondering if he had been speaking to Draco or himself. It was his turn to try and find something beyond the window to hold his attention; he had thrown all his pent up emotion into the moment, revealing what he wasn't sure he wanted Draco to see. However, it was his companion's voice, smooth and reassuring which took all his senses, even though his eyes remained unfocused on the leaded window pane.

"Thank you," Draco began, his hand brushing Harry's knee for a second: the young man felt a tiny jet of comfort (at least, that is how his rational brain interpreted it) run up his spine at the touch, and he sustained it with stillness for a few moments, wondering if his interpretation was correct or even desirable anymore.

Then he breathed out and looked back at his friend. Draco's head was tipped to one side, his gaze a mixture of curious and confident, and Harry found himself drawn in by the smile which played in his eyes rather than on his lips. Harry wasn't sure for what kind of clarity his companion was searching, but he knew it was from him. Silence fell, easy quiet between friends, Draco was not pushing for whatever answer he sought, and Harry felt strangely calm about giving none. The pair just stared at each other.

"The magic can be many different things," Draco's hushed tone slipped in to the long moment, and Harry blinked as he recognised the ache in the admission.

He focused back on the man, rather than his expression, and supported before he really thought about it, "Like Cruciatus."

Ice-blue eyes widened at that revelation, but Harry didn't feel like elaborating, he just shrugged and smiled thinly. After a second, Draco continued, "It can hurt like hell, but be incredibly invigorating at the same time. It's the only time I really feel it, all of it, when it's going in. What you saw isn't the only way they've invested me with magic."

His companion nodded encouragement as Draco paused: he wanted more than anything to understand and the need drew him forward a little, like a conspirator. The blond man's smile reached his lips, and Harry's heart missed a beat.

"It can also be very intimate and erotic," Malfoy breathed, and his companion felt a tingle of something definitely more than comfort run from his tailbone to his head as the depth in those blue eyes made sense.

Harry gasped in an unsteady breath and sat straight, his eyes anywhere but on his comrade; he had shocked himself and tried to deny the effect Draco's presence had had on him. Harry felt his cheeks burning, and he considered leaving the closeness of the bay, but Draco held him there with, "I saw it, Harry, don't run away."

The young man glanced back up at his suddenly scary companion, unsure what to do.

"Go with what you feel, Harry. Live in the moment, it's all either of us have left."

The young wizard let the words sink in, but he was beyond analysis. His heart was now thundering in his chest and it wasn't the whisky which was making him giddy. His stomach did somersaults as a hand stroked his leg, and then Draco was there, close, and his lips brushed Harry's. Harry shuddered at the light touch as a stronger tremor of desire ran through his tense body and his partner pulled away, enough to look into his face again.

"I'm asking," Draco murmured.

The scent of him filled Harry's nostrils. His gentle fingers sent prickles of excitement out over Harry's skin from where they rested on his thigh. His expressive gaze told Harry of a passion that he was holding back only barely.

"Yes."

Harry closed his eyes and accepted another kiss, more definite this time, but still tempered, testing. Draco's lips were damp, almost sticky against his dry, nervous mouth, and each tacky contact of the sensitive skin created thrilling jets of pleasure straight to his brain. Harry let the heady effect build under his partner's gentle ministrations, receiving all he offered and using it to push away the tautness in his muscles. Yet he didn't give back, not until the intoxication took over everything else. The exhilaration flared a passion from deep inside, and Harry's instincts took over. Draco must have felt the change in his lover, because his restraint evaporated. As Harry reached for him, his partner pressed his body into the embrace and Harry slammed into the window frame. His rush of breath at the impact parted his mouth, and Draco took full advantage. He ran the tip of his tongue just inside Harry's upper lip and with a shiver of delight, Harry drew him inside.

* * *

Harry had had his share of sexual partners, after all, he was one of the most famous men in the wizarding world and women tended to fall at his feet. Yet he had never needed a touch so much as that of his present lover. The gently insistent shift of Draco's body wiped away what was left of the outside world and he surrendered to the enchantment of his companion's lean frame parting his legs to find better contact. His partner had shifted into a kneeling position, pinning Harry into the low window seat with an efficiency that had forethought: Harry could do nothing but moan into the kiss as Draco's hands stroked up his spine under his loose shirt and dragged his already growing arousal in against his own. Harry ran one of his palms down over his lover's leather-clad arse and pulled in even more as his groin throbbed with the stimulation: a tremble ran up through Draco and reached his throat as a groan.

One hand remained on his back, but Harry found fingers snaking through his thick hair, and Draco took control again, breaking the kiss, pulling his lover's head back and drawing his tongue over the exposed jaw line and neck. Harry went weak with the sensual ripples that ran out from the titillation, and he just held on as teeth jumped the line of his ever-present collar and nipped at his shoulder. Malfoy seemed to appreciate the loss of co-ordination in his partner, and his attention increased in that vein; Harry gave him all the access he wanted as the alternating of teeth, lips and tongue on his neck made his head spin.

Yet he didn't want to let go of his lover, and as the stimulation threatened to rob him of motor control, Harry broke free of Draco's rule and lured him into another kiss. The blond wizard tasted of whisky, but his presence was more intoxicating than the alcohol could have ever been. This was a freedom beyond the bondage in which they were trapped and Harry wanted more. His fingers had only explored the outside of his companion's clothing, and greedily, he pulled at where silk met leather and tried to find Draco's pale skin. The materials parted, and he ran his nails just below the line of the trousers. The blond man's reaction was startling and instantly disappointing: he broke away.

Draco's hair fell over his face as he tore away, hampering Harry's confused search for motive in his expression. He was breathing hard, as was his companion, and he sat back on his heels, his head half down, and for a fraction of a second, Harry wondered what he had done wrong. Yet after that moment's respite, Draco looked up at his partner through his wisps of white mane, and the intensity of his bright eyes told Harry what was happening. He could see the wild side of his lover behind the ice-blue, but Draco was reigning it in; he ached at that idea, wanting the power that had turned him on so quickly, even as it scared him a little. But then Draco smiled, and the loss disappeared.

"Let's not get carried away," he murmured, his tone thick with desire, "we have plenty of time."

Harry's heat leapt back up to full strength as his lover took hold of his legs and pulled himself back up between them. They shared another embrace, but then Draco took his hands and stood up. Harry followed the pull as he was brought to his feet, and laughed as he discovered his partner's lead: they were heading for the bed.

"I thought you said we were going to take our time," he commented, twisting his hand to release one of his wrists and reaching for his lover's body compulsively.

"We are," Draco accepted Harry's encirclement as they reached the strut as the bottom corner of the four-poster, "I just want better access to you."

He leant back against the pillar and just invited in his companion with his gaze. Harry paused, poised on the edge of another sensual roller-coaster, but aware of the impatience in his partner, despite his casual tone. Draco was warring with himself, Harry could feel it in the way the elfin man's long elegant fingers stroked his pec: there was the feral part of him just below the surface that would have ripped clothing and demanded what he wanted, and then there was the lover who spoke to the vulnerability in Harry and recognised the new ground he was treading. The novice hoped he'd see them both, but for now he chose not to test the patience which was holding back the unpredictable, and folded around the slighter frame of his guide. They found each other's lips again, still revelling in the fresh encounter.

Harry returned to stroking his partner's lower back, and was more than gratified when, in shifting his weight to make the task easier, Draco pressed intimately close. Both their arousals were straining against the growing discomfort of their clothing, and they let out an almost unison groan as they rubbed together. Draco's patience was not that good, and as the sound escaped his lips, he answered the need in both of them. Harry went with the change he could feel happening, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he was turned and thrown down onto the bed.

For a few hungry moments, Draco resumed the kiss, half kneeling, half lying above his partner, and Harry pushed up against him, grabbing for any contact, allowing the exquisite pressure to build inside his body. However, then Draco broke away again, steadying himself with locked arms over Harry's torso. Harry continued to stroke his fingers anywhere he could find Draco's smooth, almost feminine skin, and blue eyes closed in pleasure as he lifted the silk shirt to tantalise the lithe frame he revealed. The blond man's arms wobbled as a long breath escaped from his chest and Harry felt his own body pulse in response. His instincts led him as he reached back down over his lover's stomach and took hold of the button on his trousers.

Draco's reaction took Harry by surprise again: he growled, shifted rapidly to free his arms and entwined his fingers in Harry's. The blond man's eyes opened, flashing, and with his slightly longer than was fashionable hair falling in all directions, Harry wondered if he was looking at a wild creature. Yet he wasn't afraid, he was excited. The testing dominance of his lover spiced his own emotions, and the young wizard met all that Draco challenged. His fingers were trapped, but Harry glided his thumbs down over the taut leather and elicited a shudder and another lust-soaked menace.

"No," Draco warned as he recovered, his touch flexing his companion's tendons.

Another rush of adrenaline coursed through Harry's body, not as nice as the last one: he capitulated at the discomfort and allowed his hands to be parted, a little unsure about his partner's victorious smile which accompanied the act. As his wrists were placed firmly down either side of his head, his lover leant over him again and insisted, "You first."

Submission did not come easily to the prisoner, he had been fighting too long now, and with a burst of defiance he flexed against Draco's hold. Instantly, Draco released him and knelt back. The dominator disappeared from Draco's stance and Harry scrabbled to sit up, shocked by his own sudden change in mood. He came body to body with his now silent companion and stared into his uncertain face. Yet, Draco wasn't looking at him, his eyes were lowered slightly. Harry put a hand to the collar which was his partner's focus, suddenly vulnerable and unsure what sat behind the attention. He flinched as he felt a light finger run against the top edge of the thick leather and his neck. Draco stopped at the adverse reaction, his hand going to rest on Harry's shoulder and then he met his partner's green gaze.

"It doesn't matter," he murmured, "None of it matters here."

Harry didn't know if he could believe that; desire had blanked out the world, but it had only taken a small trigger to bring it back again. The collar was part of his life now, like his scar, a reminder of things from which he would rather have walked away, and no amount of cajoling could change that.

"Let me show you," Draco requested.

Uncertain of what he meant, but desperately wanting to recapture the desire which had filled the tears in his soul, the captive allowed his glasses to be drawn off, and accepted another kiss. Draco was gentle again, his lips light and comforting. Harry felt the tension begin to slip away, more slowly this time. He let his passion rise a second time, testing it as he opened his mouth to his lover and smiling at the thrill which replaced the cold. He reached for the slight frame, and immediately found himself wrapped in an embrace.

The kiss took away the pain; nothing did matter except the instant he was in, and Harry sunk in to the physical. Fingers wrapped themselves in his hair and led him deeper into the experience. The young man took all his lover had to give and opened to him without restraint. One instant, Draco's tongue danced against him own, and the next, teeth nipped at his lips; the mixtures of sensation made light work of the last of his discomfort. Only then, when he was relaxed and totally at ease with the renewed encounter did Draco change his approach. Harry felt him shift, one hand's fingers slipped out of his hair, and that arm snaked around his body. He adjusted his own hold, moulding to the new position and trembled as his lover finished the kiss by drawing his teeth from lips to ear. He nuzzled against Draco's neck with a contented little moan as his lobe was licked and nibbled in erotic proportion.

Then breath tickled his ear as Draco whispered, "Trust me."

Harry shivered and could only find a second intoxicated murmur which he hoped his lover would interpret as an affirmative. Draco's hold tightened protectively and his fingers played against his companion's scalp entwining more definitely into the dark brown locks. Harry went with his guide as his head was tipped to the side, and Draco's lips began to move down. Sometimes a kiss, sometimes a lick, sometimes a nip, the more experienced lover took his time waking every nerve ending just below Harry's ear, and Harry vocalised his pleasure. His whole body began to sing in time with the localised caress.

Draco's specific attentions had a purpose, and Harry realised it as he let out a deep groan of ecstasy. His lover had gradually worked his way down his neck, and his reaction was in response to the stroke of tongue between leather and skin. That initial lick had been a test, but Draco took Harry's response as more than encouragement, and with his own wordless murmur of excitement, he pushed them back down onto the bed. Harry let his head be angled up further, and lost himself in the pleasure of the unusual titillation.

* * *

Draco dragged another ecstatic groan from Harry, this time as he sucked lightly on his nipple. Harry wasn't sure when his shirt had been undone, he'd been too distracted by his partner's ministrations at his neck to notice until Draco had begun to explore the revealed flesh as well. They'd shifted further onto the bed, and Harry let out a rush of breath as his lover straddled him. The pupils of the blue eyes were dilated as they gazed down intently at him, and Harry reached up to their owner, determined to return some of the delight still tingling in his body. Draco accepted the fingers which ran up under his shirt and over his taut stomach with a grumble of appreciation, and he stretched.

"My turn," Harry decided and put his hands around his partner's waist.

Draco grinned at him silently, and went with a gentle request which brought him down beside his lover. Harry rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow and entwined his legs with his companion's. He stroked Draco's angular cheek and then kissed him. Harry dwelt in the tender union for a while, building his impetus, and using the time to unbutton his lover's shirt. When he drew back, an expectant smile was playing on Draco's mouth and he relaxed back onto the covers, closing his eyes.

Harry dragged his eyes down over the thin line of almost white flesh that the shifting silk had already revealed and licked his lips. His arousal pulsed in time with his desire, and he followed the path of his eyes with one finger. Draco shuddered away from the touch, his breath catching in his throat in blissful gasps. Harry grinned and pushed the cloth aside with a more definite stroke. However, his ardour was interrupted by what he revealed; he had forgotten about the mark he had seen on Draco's chest during the ceremony, but as he saw it close-up, he reached for it instinctively. Without his glasses, the details were blurred, but his fingers traced around the edge of two creatures thrust up against each other. He tried to make them out, running his nail over the scar-like tissue, but suddenly, his partner's hand was there, his fingers harsh as they stopped his action. Harry glanced up at Draco, and met the same kind of trepidation he had shown over the collar.

"He held out his hand and he marked me," the blond man's tone was derogatory, warning him away, but Harry understood the emotion, and he took his lead from the solution Draco had found for him: he smiled at his lover, and entwined his fingers with those that had stopped him.

He squeezed and assured, "Trust me."

Draco frowned, but Harry was not going to give up so easily. He laid back up against his companion, and whispered warmly, "It doesn't matter."

Then he kissed.

Draco took a moment to respond, but his passion was not very far below the surface. Harry laid him back down, loosening the tension in his chest with gentle stroking down his ribs. Draco murmured through the embrace and his partner intensified the rhythm of his lips, drawing them back into the moment. Only when he found the centre of his desire did he break away. Draco's eyes were closed again, so Harry returned his attention to his lithe body.

His lover's chest rising and falling irregularly held all the invitation the young man needed, and he placed a kiss right in the centre of Draco's breast bone. His mouth slightly apart, he flicked his tongue and allowed a thrill to run down his spine as he tasted the salt of Draco's excitement. Draco whispered his appreciation. Then, deliberately, he moved to the dark lines on his partner's skin and ran his tongue slowly over them. The blond man sighed this time, shifting slightly, but there was no more pain in his sound and Harry ran his teeth over the strangely rough marks. Draco's mouth opened in soundless enjoyment and his lover followed an instinct: he nipped at the attractive flesh and felt his own body react in desire as his companion twitched and then shivered his pleasure. Harry flicked his tongue again over the bite and knew he was heading in the right direction for both of them; he would wipe away any significance these stains had on their world.

* * *

Kiss, bite, lick, Harry used his mouth to stimulate until his partner was breathing his name. The wizard gazed down on his work, tracing the marks his teeth had left with the tips of his fingers. Draco liked his titillation rough and, in truth, Harry was vaguely appalled by how far his lover's encouragements had taken him. Still, Draco hadn't complained, and the passion in Draco's gaze, as he opened his eyes at the pause, wiped away any conscience twinge of the previously docile sexual partner. Harry met that stare with his own libido, and knew what was coming before his partner took hold of his waistband.

Feral was now making it out from behind Draco's considerate restraint, as with Harry's growing confidence, the need for the war had subsided. Harry rolled onto his back and let Draco on top of him again. He groaned as his companion knelt over his legs and carefully released his erection. He moved his hips in time with rivulets of bliss which smooth strokes released into his system and he could not hold back his vocal pleasure. Draco's eyes flashed at him, enlivened by his response, and then his gaze was gone. For a second, nothing, and then with a cry of delight, Harry raised his tailbone off the bed as soft warmth encircled his shaft. The dark man was so near the edge that he might have come there and then, except that he discovered how experienced his lover was when he slid his fingers up behind his balls and with a small pressure stalled his ardour. Harry dragged in breath and ground his teeth at the same time as ecstasy mixed with exquisite frustration.

Nails ran into the dark hair above his loins, and the young man swore as his whole being centred on the sensations. Draco laughed, his breath rousing more expletives as it ran from tip to base of Harry's hard-on. The ensnared lover tipped his head back into the mattress and clawed at the covers. Tongue, lips, fingers, teeth, Harry had no idea what was causing which jet of arousal, but the path to climax took away everything else. Draco guided him on, sometimes so light his whine complained that he could barely feel the ministrations, sometimes so intense Harry's head span. Nothing could have held him back when orgasm finally hit: Harry shouted his pleasure and bucked as the world disappeared in pure, sexual frenzy.

The high kept him away from reality long enough that when the lust-soaked man came down, his lover was lying up his body, and a self-satisfied grin was hovering just above his face. Draco kissed him before Harry had really had time to recover and he responded with left-over ardour. It took him a moment to realise that the unusual taste of his partner's mouth was his own semen, and then everything caught up. Harry wrapped his arms around his companion and did his damnedest to show him how much he had enjoyed his attentions.

* * *

Harry's stomach scar was still sensitive, and Draco had decided to show him just how erotic a mixture of pain and pleasure could be as he concentrated on the damaged skin. Harry had shed his clothes after his lover had pulled them halfway off during the oral sex. However, as Draco played him like an instrument, the young man was beginning to want more access to his partner's still clad body. He sat up as one nip too many reminded him that Draco was doing most of the work. The blond man shifted into a sitting position in time for Harry to reach across and push his open shirt off his shoulders.

"Get your clothes off."

Draco raised a half-amused eyebrow, and to his partner's chagrin, uncurled and climbed off the bed. He stood at the end of the four-poster, framed by the firelight and shrugged his shirt the rest of the way to the ground. Harry knew his tongue was hanging out as the centre of his attention stood for a moment and teased. It was Harry's turn to reveal that he could be wild too, and he growled wordlessly in complaint. Draco chuckled wickedly and then slid his hands down over his stomach to his fly. Slowly, oh so slowly, his elegant fingers worked, first on the button, and then on the zip. His lover's hair was so pale, that Harry could barely discern it from his skin as in an agonising tease he revealed what lay beneath the leather. The young man wanted to reach out and touch, but something in Draco's eyes held him in place as his lover pushed down his remaining clothing and stepped out of it. Draco was erect, Draco was exciting, Draco was ready to take him. Harry looked up into his partner's intoxicating stare, and he knew what he wanted. A moment of unique anxiety ran through him.

"We don't have to," Draco had seen his thoughts, again.

"I want to," the young man admitted, allowing the rush of those words and the emotions that went with them to speed his heart rate further: his complete abandon to his attraction was what scared him.

He gazed up at his companion, letting him see his mixed-up fervour. Draco smiled, and his tone was somewhere between excitement and measured lust as he said, "Turn over."

Harry bit his lip as he moved, feelings of his first sexual encounter coming back to him. Yet, he hadn't been this nervous, or this aroused. Draco walked to the bedside cabinet and pulled open the draw. Harry's mouth fell open as he realised that he was fetching supplies.

"You scheming bastard," he charged, the extent of his lover's pre-planning adding a little indignance to his already full emotional set.

Draco chuckled again, and just replied, "I always prepare for the unexpected."

With a sideways glance of disbelief, Harry kept him in sight for as long as possible as the blond man climbed back onto the bed, holding the small pot he had collected. When he couldn't see his companion anymore, Harry remained propped up on his elbows and stared at the pillows, trying to catch up with the pounding of his heart, and the lack of thought in his brain. There was a body next to his, not moving too fast, but every movement was sending shocks of anticipation through his spine. He couldn't control his reaction any more than he could the need which had brought him here, and at his jagged breath and wild shivers, Draco asked softly, "Are you alright?"

Harry glanced back at his concern. He let the small laugh of confused excitement out of his mouth, and was glad when his lover seemed to understand.

"Lie down."

Harry remained nervously poised as his companion straddled his back, but then fingers began to rub at the nape of his neck, and he couldn't fight the waves of relaxation each press sent through him. With a sigh, he lay his head down on his hands and placed himself into his partner's hands. He liked the trust that came with his action, and it appeared, so did Draco.

"That's better."

Draco's hands were slick, and smelt of potions, the strangely exotic odour of magic and chemistry combined. He proceeded to massage every inch of his companion's back with the balm. The mixture of experienced stroking and carefully balanced elixir removed all traces of tension, forcing out Harry's anxiety and replacing it with tempered passion. Harry just lay still and let out little murmurs of his pleasure, which became stronger, as with his ease, fingers were joined by his lover's mouth.

Draco's tongue ran right down his spine, and Harry lifted his head with a moan as his lips kissed his tailbone. His lover's delicate fingers maintained the sensation as they massaged the base of his spine, increasing it in ripples and encouraging his ardour. Harry's body was singing again, and knew he was ready. He wanted to feel his partner inside, he wanted to offer him everything he could. All he said was, "Now."

Draco didn't change his stroke immediately, although Harry smiled as he felt his companion tremble at his offer. He continued to massage his thumbs over Harry's lower spine, but interspersed it with long rubs down over his buttocks, parting them, suggesting his interest, but then stroking round over his hips and back to his tailbone; each delay made Harry growl with impatience, but he could feel his pleasure continuing to build, none-the-less. Harry tried to remind himself that Draco knew what he was doing, but he was ready, he was sure he was ready, and the anticipation was driving him mad.

When his lover finally slid fingers slowly down his cleft, Harry wanted nothing else, and as they pressed gently against his opening, he groaned at the testing pressure, lifting against it. Draco was excited, Harry could hear it in his breathing, but still his lover held back, experimenting with the undemanding touch that warned his muscles what was to come. Harry was in no mood for heeding warnings, his body pulsed pleasure at the new sensations, and he wanted more.

Harry lifted against the touch a second time, and was finally rewarded as Draco's attentions entered his body. He discovered the reason behind his lover's caution as more from surprise at the newness of the experience, rather than any hurt, he tensed after only a second. He gasped, panting as the intrusion he had demanded took his breath away, and he was grateful when Draco paused only a little way into his movement. Harry propped himself up on his elbows, unable to just relax again as part of him wanted more and the rest rebelled. Draco responded by running his free hand slowly up Harry's spine, and he then pushed on Harry's shoulder.

"Lie down," he coaxed, heat in his voice.

That was not so easy, and it was only as his lover leant forward and placed his weight on his back that Harry capitulated. Draco laid up the length of one side of his body, and Harry could feel the fast rising and falling of his partner's chest, and he also felt the press of Draco's erection against his leg. A kiss on the back of his neck could not detract much from the definite push into his body, but it did make Harry shudder away some of his tension, and Draco took full advantage. Harry curled his fingers into the bedclothes as he was invaded still further by one glossy finger, enjoying the sensation, but not able to surrender to it.

Yet, the balm on Draco's hands went to work, smoothing the path of the intrusion and coaxing the relaxation Draco was after. Harry let out a long groan as the touch became easier and deeper at the same time, and another kiss told him his lover approved. Draco slowly massaged the sensitive skin, waking pleasure centres Harry hadn't known he possessed, stretching and easing with gradually more force. The novice found himself pushing against the touch, wanting as much as Draco could give, demanding more as he had with the stroking: he knew Draco was playing him, and he encouraged it.

Harry accepted another finger with much less resistance than he had the first, welcoming the heady pressure that sent pleasure all over his body. His bliss came out in a helpless moan and Draco chuckled, his breath dancing over Harry's shoulder. Another brush of lips on his back followed and Harry relaxed away from the penetration as his lover withdrew.

"Where do we go from here?" Draco murmured the challenge close to his ear, and Harry shuddered as fingers teased his entrance again.

"Mm," Harry returned in no state for thinking about much except the heat in his body: he didn't care what Draco had in mind, he trusted him and he wanted anything he chose to give.

Draco sat up, running his hand down Harry's back as he straddled him once more. Two hands stroked him afresh, thumbs running down his cleft and parting his buttocks with much more certainty than minutes ago. He grunted as those thumbs tested the tight muscle ring of his anus, and then opened him smoothly. Draco's confidence was growing, Harry could feel it, and his own came with it: he met the new massage, by lifting himself into it and let his partner know more was good.

Being prepared by his lover took Harry's co-ordination and breath away, but he knew it was just that, preparation. The long, careful strokes, however wonderful, were not all he wanted, and this new, moment-by-moment world made him impatient. The knot of anxiety in his belly had become one of desire, and he wanted Draco inside him. He was close to begging when finally Draco read his mind. Harry was hungry for his partner when fingers were replaced by a hot, slick cock, and nothing that had gone before compared to the ecstasy as he was slowly speared.

Draco's groan joined Harry's and they held together in stillness, savouring the new bond. Harry had never felt so at ease with a partner, and he let the new sensations take over his whole being, knowing that he would be allowed the time. Only as he relaxed away a little from the newness did Draco move. Then he slid in deeper. Harry gasped as the penetration sent shock waves through his body and he tensed, halfway between pleasure and surprise: his lover's response was a catch of breath and he drew back a way. Harry whined at the loss and was gratified as his partner pushed in again, a little harder. Both men groaned: Draco found the perfect spot and Harry shuddered.

Draco's confidence in his own skill grew with his success and Harry's developing trust. He was the guide, and Harry let him take him wherever he wanted to go, placing his faith in his companion's experience. The world outside was finally gone completely: no thoughts bothered the young wizard, here he was just a lover, and he surrendered to the sensations in himself and his partner.

Harry didn't care where the ecstasy was coming from anymore, his whole body strained in the flow of sensation and he offered it back to his lover. His total being screamed at him that this was right, that he was complete and then he heard Draco cry out his name. The young man thrust one more time, and any control Harry had left disappeared. Their bodies locked in blissful abandon and every nerve exploded.

Harry came down slowly and became aware of a panting body lying on top of him. Draco's chest was damp against his back, and each flex rekindled snatches of desire, but his muscles just shivered with the left-over intensity, as co-ordination failed him. His partner shifted enough to lay a tender little kiss on his shoulder, but his voice was far away as he murmured, "You -- I -- We."

No more sense came, and the couple just lay still and intimate in the haze.

When Draco did finally regain enough sense to move, Harry didn't really want him to. The union kept everything away, protected his spirit from being alone, and his sigh as his lover withdrew was for loss. He was grateful as Draco remained close, still half wrapped around him as he slid onto his side, it stalled the encroach of reality and kept him warm inside. Yet his emotion must have been in his face as he looked across to the blond man, for his smile was sad and concerned. Harry didn't want to focus on that, however. This moment, however mind-blowing, was over, he accepted that and deliberately put away any regret. He looked instead at the tousled hair and flushed cheeks which made Draco a very sexy proposition and let a new attraction begin to build. As Harry let his imagination skirt around his angst, inspiration for many more moments began popping into his head and he grinned impishly.  



	9. Consequences

Harry stretched and let the world come back slowly. Steamy memories flowed out of his dreams, and he lay in a half-waking state, reliving the rushes of the long night. He was therefore horny as hell by the time he woke up enough to move, and he groaned in pleasure where his erection brushed the sheet as he rolled over. His ardour plummeted when he turned over to an empty bed. He had fallen asleep sated and protected in the arms of his lover; to find him gone brought Harry's safe little house of cards tumbling down, and he sat up rapidly, scanning the room for any sign of Draco. The blond man's clothes were gone, and there were no sounds coming from the bathroom; in dismay, Harry threw himself back down onto the pillows as he realised he was alone. He ran his hands through his thick, tousled hair, a thousand questions and concerns replacing the recent content. Where was Draco? Why hadn't he woken him to say goodbye? Was he coming back? Harry tried to stall them all by the knowledge that this was no different than waking up yesterday, or the day before: he was still surrounded by luxury, he was still living according to Draco's orders, not Lucius'. But today was different, today he should have been able to greet his lover with a passionate embrace, today he should have enjoyed the touch of another human being, and he couldn't. Selfishly, the young man allowed himself an overwhelming stab of disappointment.

Eventually, Harry forced himself through his emotion and slid out of bed. He plodded to the bathroom and ran a bath. A small boon in the uncertainty into which the young man had woken was the fact that when he came out of the smaller chamber, he found that Leafram had left him his usual change of clothes, along with the Daily Prophet. With no other choice, Harry fell back into his recent routine of dressing and then settling in to the window seat to read the paper. The Prophet didn't hold much palatable, or even accurate news, but Harry had taken to heart a lecture he'd received from Moody about knowing thine enemy, and besides, he always flicked to the editorial first. The prisoner smiled, and ran his fingers over the print, trying to capture some of the person behind the words as he read, 'Don't give up, Harry. We love you.'

The young man sat and savoured the message for a minute, but then he turned back to the front page. He wrinkled his nose and leafed to the second page as he was greeted by the smiling face of Lucius Malfoy: there was knowing an enemy and being too intimate. Instead of the headline, he scanned the inside page, and his eyes fell on another by-line of Hermione's. Raising an eyebrow at the headline, 'Resistance Thwarted', he carried on reading and then smiled again. The article began in a diatribe about the invisible group of witches and wizards who regularly fought back against their oppressors. The Order was not synonymous with the larger British Resistance, but Remus had mentioned a few forays which they had undertaken together. However, as Harry read on, it became clear that Hermione's message to him was not the only way she was subverting the Prophet.

'...This paper is proud to report that after a successful run of raids, the Resistance was thwarted during a daring attempt to raid a Potion's supply warehouse. However, it is our regret to report that all members of the terrorist cell escaped...'

"Thank you, Hermione," the young man breathed, feeling some satisfaction that the underdog had a voice.

He didn't bother reading to the end of the article, and skipped a couple of pages looking for anything interesting. However, he didn't get the chance to read any further. The door opened with an aggression which caused the young man to stand rapidly, dropping the paper. The security Harry had discovered over the last few days shattered as both his violent gaolers stalked into the room. Villainous led the way and his ugly grimace chilled all warmth from the luxury around him. Harry looked into his beady eyes and in one panic-stricken moment his new world fell away. Gryffindor Tower was not so far away in time or space that the prisoner had forgotten his terrible reality, and his feet rooted to the spot, half in dread, half in instinctive defiance.

"Hello, Pup, we missed you," the smaller gaoler sneered, his comrade slapping the leash in his hand in tandem with the scorn. "Nice little love nest you and Sonny Boy have here. But now, y'see, Daddy's back, and little Draco has found other things to play with."

Harry denied that before he controlled himself, and ire mixed with chagrin as the response was laughter. He wouldn't believe that the man he had discovered underneath the masks would just back away, something had to have happened.

"Pup doesn't believe us, Brutus," Villainous taunted, sniggering as he spat into his hands and rubbed them together. "He's forgotten all his lessons."

The young man let his anger outweigh any other emotion: he couldn't afford the doubt that his tormentors were sewing, not if he was to hold on to any spirit he had revived during the last week. Harry Potter was not helpless, he was a good Auror, and he had excelled in the physical side of magic and fighting. He was not going to be taken easily, and he scanned the room, his defensive instincts on overload. The bedroom was flush with weaponry for a resourceful warrior, but Harry's training found the most useful.

Villainous was watching him suspiciously, but Brutus seemed unaware of Harry's calculations. The large man charged in, swinging the leather and chain in warning, but his quarry dived expertly under his attack and headed for the fireplace. He came out of a roll grabbing for a poker he had spotted in the grate. His senses told him that Villainous was by far the more dangerous opponent, and so the combatant went for his smaller target. The second gaoler had remained hovering in the doorway, blocking the exit and he swung at him with lethal accuracy. However, bulky though he may have been, Villainous was fast, and he ducked, yelling at his subordinate, who was still across the other side of the room, wondering where his prisoner had gone. Harry sliced at the man again, forcing him out of his way, and then he ran.

There was no plan, the young man just pelted down the corridor accompanied by the warning cries of his pursuers. Even left or right out of the room had been sheer luck, but he found himself retracing the steps which had brought him to his sanctuary such a short time ago. It didn't help his cause when the portraits joined in with at least the vocal chase, but Harry took a small pleasure in swiping several off the wall with his makeshift weapon, and then he reached the first corner. The escapee heard the thumping footsteps of his gaolers behind him, and glanced back; they were barely out of the bedroom. Villainous bellowed at him, "You're mine, Pup!"

Harry ducked around the bend, his heart in his throat and his haste made him pay. The young man collided with a solid object before he saw it, and the object swore loudly. Harry flailed wildly as he was caught in the robes of another wizard, and the pair of them slammed into the ground. The runaway recovered more quickly than the man he had floored, and he scrabbled off him, barely giving him a second glance. What he had noticed was the small, gnarled piece of wood which had flown out of his unfortunate victim's clothing on impact, and he grabbed for the wand. A security he had been missing since being incarcerated reformed around the young wizard as his fingers closed on the magical baton, and he wore a grim smile as he regained his feet. Now he could fight back properly, now they would see what Harry Potter could do.

The old school bells began to ring the alarm, but Harry didn't care; with the poker in one hand and the wand in the other, he headed into the main body of the castle, ready to fight whatever he met on the way to freedom.

"Expelliarmus!" the Auror charged, relieving a rather agitated old Death Eater of his wand as he ran past.

"Pulvereus!" he blinded a patrol with a minor dust storm before swiping them out of the way with his lance.

Harry's spirits rose with the small victories: he had a chance. Yet, a thousand ideas poured into the young man's mind with that possibility of escape, none of them as simple as the last time he had managed to try for freedom. Draco came to the front of his thoughts, and the questions he had asked himself that morning. Where was his lover? Flight was not so easy when he considered his missing companion.

[If I can just make it out into the Forbidden Forest I can hide and decide what to do,] Harry told himself, needing some kind of firm goal to keep him running; Villainous, at least, was still behind him, a corridor away, maybe, but in pursuit, none-the-less, and he had to continue.

The fleeing wizard tried to pick an escape route avoiding the more populated areas of the castle, but this was not so easy on the constantly moving staircases. What had once been fun as a child, now hampered the man as Harry was forced to recalculate his path with each new corridor. Hogwarts had changed, not beyond all recognition, but to a point where the Old Boy knew his recognition time was slowing him down. In the end, he reached a T-junction of corridors with a patrol of Death Eaters on his heels. The red blast of the stupefaction spell sent crimson sparks over his head as Harry ducked, and without looking, he ran down the hallway to his left. Almost instantly, he knew he'd picked the wrong direction, because he dashed out onto the largest stairwell in the castle. No less than five groups of searchers spotted him at the same time from different staircases and doorways, and the young man half-fell, half-clambered down the flight he was on as a dozen curses came in his direction. Some clashed and pictures flew off the wall, others rebounded back at their casters, and Harry allowed himself a grin of satisfaction as cries of pain and shock came from multiple directions. He let off a few of his own charms and curses to back up the mess the wizards had made for themselves and continued his sprint down the steps.

Harry spun on his heel as he heard multiple sets of footsteps descending after him, and aimed his wand at his pursuers. However, at least one Death Eater was ready for him, and he heard 'Expelliaramus' before he could defend against it. These wizards were not stupid, and the disarming spell came from several directions. Harry's hand stung with the multiple assaults, but he held on to the wand, shifting violently to avoid the main impact of the attacks. The defence of his weapon was his undoing. The young man stepped backwards as his balance shifted, and there was no step. The poker went flying as he reached for the banister, but his fingers could not get a grip; with a cry of disappointed anger, he toppled down the stairs.

Up became a painful down, down became a disoriented up and sideways flipped horribly as Harry tumbled. He wrapped his arms around his head defensively as he slammed into the sides of the staircase on his way down, but he was still seeing stars by the time he landed on his back on a small landing between flights. He lay there, dazed and coughing as air refused to return to his winded lungs. Only as a shadow came across him did Harry try to reorient himself, but it was too late. A hobnail boot came down on the hand which still held the wand and he cried out as wood and bone cracked under the weight of its owner.

Still angry, and now in pain, the captive struck out at the dark figure on whom his spinning vision would not focus. His free fist contacted with thigh before his wrist was caught, but he continued to struggle, swearing incoherently at his vanquisher. Villainous barked some kind of warning, but Harry wasn't listening and he kept on fighting: he was mad at these people for their cruelty, he was angry at himself for failing in his escape, and he was incensed by the loss in his heart as he realised that Draco was out of reach. His gaoler's response was simple: the prisoner tensed in more pain and then the world went away as a punch contacted with his face.

* * *

His hand was throbbing and his face felt like he'd walked into a wall, but it was irrational, uncontrolled hatred which brought Harry out of his stupor. He was slung carelessly over Brutus's shoulder, but as soon as he had co-ordination to do so, the young man used his working fist on the expansive, foul-smelling area of flesh that was his bearer's back. Brutus dropped him in surprise rather than any effect Harry's weak assault had on him, and the young man landed in an untidy, swearing pile against the corridor wall. He hit out in defence as his two gaolers moved in on him, but he was no match for the almost leisurely efficiency.

"Now Pup, you have to relearn your manners," Villainous warned as, with a sharp tug on the leash, Brutus dragged him out of his defensive crouch.

He kicked, but quickly found the larger man's body on top of his legs, while his superior went for the arm which Harry held protectively against his body. Fingers closed around his broken bones, and the prisoner struggled. He grabbed the decisive grip, his pain a guttural grunt, but his master just increased the pressure at his scrabblings. The world began to spin and Harry could not stifle the cry which echoed his agony. He went weak, his vision tinting silver, and all fight drained out of the young man. Villainous let him go, and, panting with the hurt, Harry slumped against the wall, cradling his damaged limb. The lead gaoler called off his lackey with a silent wave, and their charge just watched, dazed and sick as he hauled his bulk back to vertical.

Villainous tutted as he looked down on his prisoner and observed, "Well, well, Pup, has Lover Boy been spoiling you? Now, do you want more where that came from, or are you going to be good?"

Harry glared up at the blurred faces, since he had lost his glasses somewhere along the way, but after a rattle of chain at his neck, he answered haltingly, "No more."

"Up," Brutus immediately ordered, and yanked the lead.

Harry clambered slowly to his feet, turned to follow his gaolers and then froze. He hadn't realised how far he had come since Draco's intervention, and his own horror at being faced with the doorway where once the Fat Lady's portrait had stood, took him by ugly surprise. In luxury, his defences had come down, and it took Harry a moment to find enough within himself to block out the ache caused by his return to squalor. Yet, with another pull on his collar, the captive found that resignation came back with appalling ease. He took hold of the chain with his good hand and plodded after his gaolers.

* * *

Gryffindor Tower had, sadly, not changed since he had left it, and neither had its occupants. The presence of Lucius Malfoy and the glow of Voldemort's wall waiting for him provided Harry with the hardness of stance he had been looking for. He levelled his shoulders as he was pulled into the space in front of his ultimate tormentor and glared. There was tense silence as Brutus fixed the chain to the floor-hoop; Lucius was trying to gloat, but his constant fiddling with something concealed in his hands told Harry that he was more than a little upset about something. His prisoner could guess why the older Malfoy was upset: he'd come home to find his sick strategies turned on their head by his son. The young man found some triumph in that, but it didn't change the fact that he was back in the torture chamber.

"Did you miss me, Potter?" the blond man asked eventually, discarding the compulsive something onto the table and walking closer.

His face came into more-or-less focus a few feet away, and Harry saw just how annoyed he was; the blue eyes of the Malfoy family blazed at his silent defiance, but Lucius' voice tried to deny his anger, as he sneered, "I hadn't expected Draco to take such initiative. Quite the young seducer isn't he. I knew he was good, but you must have been a challenge. How many games did he have to play with your mind to work his way into your bed?!"

Lucius clipped the last few words as his temper threatened to make it out of hiding. Harry just stared him down: he wouldn't believe him. His tormentor's bad mood slipped back below the surface with something near the walls that Harry had seen Draco use, and he saw the supercilious grin that spoke of dominance. Harry felt sick as he realised where the son had learnt his techniques.

"I did have to ask Draco to give you back this morning, after all, you belong to the Dark Lord."

Harry bit his tongue, that disclosure didn't deserve response.

"He did mention that he'd already got what he wanted, though, so he wasn't too bothered."

The captive still glared at Malfoy, but his eyes began to search for the truth of that statement as its plausibility touched his own doubts. Maybe that was why Draco had not be there that morning, maybe he had just left after getting his way.

[No!] Harry told himself firmly, he was not that much of a fool. He had seen through Draco's pretences, and there was no way he had fallen for one.

However, Lucius must have seen the cloud touch his face, because he laughed and taunted, "You didn't really think that my son, heir to the greatest man in wizard history, could care about you. He plays with things, Potter. You were a toy."

The young man only just held on to his denial: he would not argue like this. Lucius could say what he liked, what he and Draco had shared would remain in the privacy of the guest chamber.

"Anyway," the cold man turned on his heel and stalked away, "my son is irrelevant. We're here because of you. You tried to run again, Potter, have you learnt nothing? You must be punished, and I think that maybe these should go first."

Lucius grabbed the discarded plaything and held it out for Harry to see; the young man made out his glasses and his heart sank. He was not blind without them, but they were the only possession he still had. The prisoner flinched as Malfoy's hand came swiftly down against the corner of the table. He heard the lenses shatter and the young man could not hide his regret. Lucius sniggered, and disclosed, "Maybe Brutus will read to you, Potter. Now -- strip!"

Harry started at the order which came as he was still in the grip of the last horror. The venom in his captor's tone dragged his gaze away from where the destruction had taken place, and he stared dumbly into the total hatred he met in Lucius' face, frozen by it. The highs of the previous evening seemed a lifetime away as the young man's spirit sunk through the floor. How low could he go?

"Do it, Gryffindor!" Malfoy used the title as though it were a swear word, and smacked the table in impatience.

Yet it did not have the desired effect in his victim, because the reminder of the strengths which the Sorting Hat had seen in him found Harry's battered ego. He set his features, and slowly reached for the buttons on his shirt. His heart tore a little more as each disc slipped away from the fastening, but Malfoy saw none of it. The blond man's eyes blazed with domination, but Harry denied him his power, defying him with his fixed, green stare. The prisoner gritted his teeth as he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and carefully pulled it over his damaged hand. Vulnerability swelled up in his chest, pushing aside the joy he had shared with his lover, sewing doubt in the place of their union, but he fought to keep any emotion from his face.

Lucius would not see.

Harry reached for his fly with tense fingers, lost behind the mask he held in place. He undid it quickly, pushing the trousers down and stepping out of them before his courage ran out. So he was back down on the bottom again, naked, subhuman, chilled beyond anything he had yet known.

But Lucius would not see.

Harry stood before his tormentor and stared blankly into his ice-eyes. The man was looking for a flinch, for a weakness, but his captive gave him none. Lucius' face clouded, his impatience giving Harry the victory. Malfoy was in no mood to really play games, he wanted vengeance, and he raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

Unwittingly, Lucius gave his prey release. Harry crumpled with the magical torture, and he screamed. He let out the physical pain, the white hot agony through every fibre. The hopeless prisoner also cried for his soul; the desertion of his lover, the degradation he was suffering and the horrible thought that it might never end.

* * *

The quiet of the cell did not help Harry to sleep as he had been instructed by the Healer who had removed any sign of Lucius' revenge. He had become accustomed to the warmth of the fire and a soft mattress beneath him, and the boards of his make-shift bed were hard and uncomfortable, and the chill of the room made him shiver uncontrollably. Harry was curled into a ball, huddling under his blanket and trying to make the world go away, but his mind could not let go of the contrasts, nor the new uncertainties in his harsh surroundings. He was feeling sick, both from the healing tingle still running through his limbs and the horrible possibility that he had been abandoned running through his head.

The sound of hobnails on stone did not help Harry's mood, especially not because he recognised two pairs of boots. If both his gaolers were coming to his cell, it was no ordinary check on their prisoner, and as the door opened, Harry tensed into his foetal ball and closed his eyes, hoping they'd think he was sleeping. Yet the young man was not as good at deception this time as he had been during his first escape attempt, and chuckles told him his disquiet had been seen for what it was.

"Pup isn't pleased to see us," Villainous mocked, and Harry gave up the pretence: he opened his eyes and looked up at the two hulks looming over him.

Villainous sunk down into a crouch and took Harry's whole attention. The prisoner knew something was up by the confident expression on his captor's face, and he lay very still, hoping whatever it was would be over quickly.

"We've decided to have a little chat with you, Pup," Villainous disclosed coolly.

"Yeah, a li'le chat," Brutus added his weight to the mix and sniggered.

"Y'see, you running like that made us look bad, and we don't like looking bad in front of the masters."

Harry didn't like the look in his gaoler's eye and he glanced quickly at the open door, calculating the odds of fighting his way out of the cell. The odds were miniscule, and they went to nothing as Villainous' face broke out into a knowing smile, and, leisurely, he reached behind and shut the only way out.

"Now, now, Pup, this is between you and us," the man continued, like he was giving a light telling off. "You need to say sorry, and relearn you lessons."

Under the blanket, Harry balled his hands into fists: he was exhausted, but he was damned if he was going to give in to these bullies any more than he would Lucius. He looked from lout to lout, assessing how much pain he could inflict before he was over-powered. Villainous continued to smile, unaware of Harry's thoughts, and explained, "We did not know that you were a fairy, but since you are a nonce, we decided that you should be generous with your affections."

Every defensive cell in his body fired at that suggestion, and Harry snarled, 'No', and was flying at Villainous before his thoughts had caught up. Sense had made him think of knocking the smaller man off-balance and going for the larger, but the smug surety of the head gaoler made Harry forget sense. This man had destroyed his hopes and was now threatening what he had left, and the prisoner wanted to hurt him. Villainous was not taken by surprise, he actually laughed as Harry dived into him, falling backwards like he'd been planning to do it all along. Growling incoherently, Harry hit out with his fists with any energy he could muster, sliding further off the bed as he did so. His opponent showed no concern for the attack, he just raised his hands to protect his face: that made Harry madder.

Yet the enraged fighter had little time to make his objections known, because the hulk that was Brutus grabbed him round the neck and hauled him off his quarry. Harry struggled, grabbing for the tree-trunk of an arm that closed on his windpipe, and he kicked as he was bodily lifted off the ground, but he was still weak with healing and could do nothing as he was thrown back down onto the cot.

Anger was swiftly turning into fear for Harry as the threats of his captors came into focus. He had landed face down, and quickly the prisoner scrabbled to turn and defend himself again. Yet all of Brutus' weight on a knee in his back crushed Harry into the planks. He wriggled and swiped sideways at Villainous, who was righting himself, but just found his wrist grabbed and pulled up behind his back. Harry cried out as his ligaments complained, but the threat of violation was more immediate than any pain and he flexed against the hold.

"No!" he yelled, defying the intent in his opponents, but his contention was ignored as his other hand was whipped up behind him as well.

Villainous placed a hand on Harry's head and pushed his face against the cot, practically immobilising his upper body, and making sure Harry was staring straight at him beside the bed. Still the young man writhed as much as he could. He heard the chink of metal and then the sound of leather sliding over cloth: he'd heard that sound before, when Uncle Vernon had removed his belt to hit him with it, yet now it meant something very different.

"No!" Harry cried out, angry and afraid, but his objection went unheeded as Villainous gloated and Brutus wrapped the leather around the wrists he was holding.

The prisoner flexed and fought, but in moments his lower arms were bound behind him from almost wrist to opposite elbow. Brutus removed his knee then and Harry shifted violently, but his upper body had been immobilised: a small pressure on his arms made him whine with the strain it put on his shoulders and he collapsed onto the cot, breathing hard.

"No," he begged, fear far outweighing anger now.

Villainous was still smiling, and taunted, "If you're going to play with the big boys, Pup, you have to take your medicine. Brutus is looking forward to trying you out."

All Harry could see of the second man was a shadow, but he could hear cloth coming away from cloth and panic wiped away any coherency. He tried to wriggle out of the single hold with which Villainous held him down, thrashing his lower body to try and get purchase on his position, but Brutus's palms pushed down on his arse, and then the large man was leaning over him.

"No, please," he supplicated himself as his struggles made less and less impact on the inevitable.

"Relax, Pup, if yer good, Brutus ain't gonna hurt yer," his oppressor goaded, rubbing his hands over Harry's buttocks and squeezing.

Harry gave up: he closed his eyes, and sunk onto the cot, shaking with abhorrence, but too weak to do anything else. He held back a mew of fear, he would not give them that satisfaction, even if they had his surrender.

"Good Pup," Villainous praised at Harry's submission. "Soon we'll have all those lessons relearnt."

Harry held his breath as Brutus paused above him, just wanting the horror to be over as quickly as possible. That was when he heard the laughter. It came from Brutus first: a low rumble in his belly and a large palm slapped the prisoner hard on the arse. Harry choked on the breath he'd been holding, and opened his eyes as Villainous too began to snigger. He was still scared, but confusion joined that emotion as Harry felt his would-be rapist climb off the bed.

"Had enough, Pup?" Villainous asked, also releasing Harry's head and gloating over his shock.

Harry didn't reply: he didn't want to do anything in case the respite disappeared. The ring-leader didn't like the lack of response, and Harry cringed away as Villainous' face went dark and a hand grabbed him by the hair.

"I asked you a question, Pup."

"Yes," Harry stammered.

"Yes, what?"

Harry glanced from man to man as Brutus came to stand behind his superior, arms folded and vicious authority in his stance, and then he whispered, "Yes, Sir."

"Sirs," Villainous added, pulling on Harry's hair.

"Yes, Sirs," Harry repeated and was released with a clip on the ear for good measure.

"Now, Pup, that was just a little demonstration," his tormentor continued, sure in his power, "a warning, you could say. You do anything to make us look bad again, and we'll be doing this for real, understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Good, now you just lie there and think about what we said, and maybe Brutus'll be back to release you in a few hours."

Villainous stood up and patted Harry's shoulder: the young man shuddered and closed his eyes, trying to hold in the self-disgust that was welling up inside. He bit his lip to keep it back, not wanting to give his tormentors any more satisfaction, but his emotions were too much, and a half-stifled whimper made it out of his mouth as Brutus finished, "See yer later, Pup."

As the door slammed shut, Harry gave in to the degradation he felt and gulped back tears of humiliation.

* * *

Brutus came back an undisclosed time later. Harry was curled towards the wall, frozen inside and out, and his only reaction was to cringe away when the gaoler retrieved his belt.

"Good, Pup," the praise came again, and the prisoner had no bark or bite for the condescension: he had more than learnt how ruthless his warders could be, and he had no wish to incur their wrath again.

Harry lay still and silent as Brutus stood back and gloried over him a little longer, and only as the door closed did he reach for the blanket which was lying on the floor. His shivers began again as the small warmth the item provided contrasted with the chill in his body, and he just let them run their course.  



	10. Beyond Breaking Point

Harry wasn't hungry, but he'd heard the order to eat come through the door from Brutus, and even though he'd regained some sense of dignity since the mock rape, the prisoner was still wary of disobeying his gaolers' orders. Brutus was still taunting him with it, but Villainous had let the message sink home without further enforcement. The assault had worked: Harry got off his bunk, despite a giddiness from the last lot of magic the Healer had used on his ankle, and went to pick up the tray. He paused long enough to register, without any surprise, that it was porridge and bread and dripping again: the only variety in his daily diet was the consistency of the porridge, and today, it looked like it was one solid lump. Then Harry turned back to the bed.

It was only two steps from door to cot, but one step was all it took for the cold little world to flip out into one of pain. Harry put his mended foot on the ground and agony lanced from his ankle, up his leg and through the rest of his body. He saw silver as the unexpected hurt reached his brain. All strength left him and then Harry was falling, but blackness had descended before he hit the ground.

* * *

When Harry woke, it was to the sound of someone swearing loudly and repeatedly. His ankle was throbbing like it had been freshly broken for the umpteenth time, and his head was woolly, but, tentatively, he opened his eyes to ascertain the owner of the colourful expletives. It was the healer who had mended his ankle, kneeling next to his bed, on which someone had placed him, and if his words hadn't been enough, the thunderous look on the man's face told Harry all he needed to know: the prisoner lay very still and tried to make the least impact on the situation as he could.

"I knew this was going to happen sooner or later!" the healer complained and glared up at Brutus like it was his fault.

"What?" the lout asked, and Harry thought he actually detected anxiety in him.

"He's rejected the healing," the medical man threw some blame Harry's way as well, and revealed at the same time that he had noticed he'd come round.

Brutus took a rapid step towards the cot, and Harry assumed he was going to get a slap, so he tensed: however, moving was not a good idea, as the world spun and pain lanced up and down his body once more, much more than it had done with the initial damage. Harry swooned, and when he came out of it a moment or so later, the healer was taking his pulse and Brutus was just hovering restlessly.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," the man swore unimaginatively this time and let go of Harry's wrist.

"Fix him," Brutus urged, and for once, Harry agreed with him: he wanted to be fixed, and soon.

"It is not that easy," the healer sighed, sinking on to his heels. "Do you know how many times that ankle has been fixed? Six times. It's no wonder his body is rejecting the magic, there is only so much magic can do to fool nature. Oh Merlin, I'll just have to do it the old fashioned way."

"Huh?" Brutus asked the same question Harry was thinking.

"The current healing spells are the result of many hundreds of years of research and fine-tuning," the man explained slowly, like he was dealing with a child. "It contains both the pain-barrier spells to stop the patient feeling the mending, and the very efficient mending itself. There are older, slower procedures, and I can separate out the barrier spell into a potion, both of which should help his body accept the healing."

"Then do it," Brutus finished airing Harry's views.

Harry had never been party to the theories behind medicinal spells, but he was given a very practical demonstration of the separate components of the healer's art when the man fed him a foul-tasting potion which made the world go purple and very hazy before a long, uncomfortable procedure where his leg felt like it was being squashed in a vice, albeit a pain-free vice. However, when the procedure was over, Brutus was informed that the magic had taken this time, and Harry drifted into mauve, exhausted slumber.

* * *

They'd given him a long time to get over the effects of the old-fashioned healing: Harry didn't know exactly how long, but he'd been fed twice. However, he had also known throughout the respite that Lucius' indulgence of the healer's skill would cost him later, and as he screamed away Vipera's bite, Harry knew that, despite a lengthy session so far, the price had not even been set. He came back to reality, his body twitching with the snake's venom, sweat chilling his flesh, and the worst of it, the little she-demon's voice dancing through his thoughts. He was so tired already, drifting in a delirium from the penalty his torturers had already extracted, but he fought the venom-magic where it tinged his world silver, denying the persuasive lisp that told him, "My Enemy, accept my master's mercy."

"Get lost," Harry hissed back, any eloquent defiance long since used up.

"Really, Harry, there is no need to be rude," Voldemort chided lightly, but his tone changed to something near frustration as he ordered, "Remove the snake."

Villainous retrieved the delicate creature as lovingly as always.

"Goodbye, again, My Enemy," Vipera whispered: Harry closed his eyes and tried to forget.

The exhausted captive took some satisfaction from the annoyance he sensed from his tormentors. However, it was a small comfort in the depravity of his world.

"I spoke with Draco this morning," Lucius resorted to the one subject which both knew could bring out Harry's well buried emotions: Harry opened his eyes and looked into his captor's angry gaze. "He wanted to know how we were getting along. He was unhappy to hear how obstinate you were being, he'd hoped his influence might have softened you up somewhat."

Doubt and loss welled up inside Harry very quickly: he looked away, but he knew his master had seen his pain.

"He suggested this next curse: my son is quite the artist."

Harry didn't want to believe Lucius, to think that Draco had been playing with him destroyed all the fight he had left, and he couldn't afford to lose it. Yet the more often the father used the son against him, the less denial Harry could muster. He had trusted, and he had needed, and Draco's betrayal was more effective than any snake's venom in lowering the prisoner's defences. A few days ago, the idea that Draco had helped Lucius come up with curses would have been impossible to believe, and he would have scorned the suggestion out right, but Lucius was a careful game-player, and, little by little, he had been chipping away at Harry's image of his lover. Harry had no answer to the cruelty of father and maybe son, he didn't know anymore, and so he just waited, hoping the pain would take away his quandary.

"Occaeco!" Lucius cast, and Harry tensed: however there was no pain, and it took Harry a few seconds of blinking and disorientation to realise that he had been blinded.

Chuckling next to his ear made Harry jump, and he cringed away from the warm breath on his face as Lucius leant in close.

"Just a little preparation, Harry," his captor whispered and the eddies in Lucius' tone sent shivers of fear down through Harry.

This was Draco's type of deviousness, like the choice of torture chamber: Lucius chose confrontation, one spell, one effect, but this tack had depth. Harry tried to push that thought away with a memory of the warmth he had shared with his lover, but the recollection failed him, and he was left with nothing but his disquiet about what was to come next.

"Muggles can be barbaric when it comes to our kind," Lucius continued to play. "They burnt us at the stake. How can you forgive them that, Harry? It is delusion. You have to understand why we believe what we do, you have to feel the flames."

Harry started involuntarily as he felt something spattering all over his body, and Lucius told him, "A little oil, we need an incendiary medium, the human body doesn't burn well on its own."

Panic started quite small, another shudder among all the others, but it didn't dissipate like the others, and Harry pulled at the ropes holding him. He tried to tell himself that they wouldn't maim him with flames, he'd seen those touched by fire during battle, and he knew not even a healer would be able remove all the damage of deep burns. It didn't make sense that they would do this now, they would be curtailing their own games. Yet not everything had to make sense in Harry's world anymore, and the panic continued to grow.

"Falaciter accendo!" Malfoy cursed, and Harry gasped as he felt heat near his toes. "They lit the fire at their feet first."

Harry pulled at the ties on his ankles, straining to drag his legs up and away from the threat. Yet he was held fast, and his breath caught in his throat as sharp points of pain lanced up from his heels.

"There was no escape," his tormentor assured him, and Harry cried out as the first touches of searing hurt spread out over his soles.

The pain licked up around his feet, and the helpless prisoner convulsed with the agony. He screamed as the heat swept up his legs, and the smell of his own flesh burning regaled his nostrils. Harry twisted and contorted, trying to get away from the flames that leapt high around him, scorching even the sickly air he dragged into his lungs, but there was no way out. His bonds held him fast, and the fire ate at his body, and the young man could do nothing to stop the pain, he was not even given the mercy of passing out. Something kept him in reality, the same something that made his heart thunder in his ears, impossibly fast, and saw him thrash against the agony.

There was no way out of this, Harry knew it as his normal limits were far surpassed by the new hell Malfoy had invented for him: he should have fainted, but the pain held him fast, driving him beyond any human boundaries, like Cruciatus, but without its purity. This agony did not take him out of reality, it sunk him into it, and the stink of burning meat drove any resistance right out of the terrified, pain-wracked man.

"Make it stop!" he screamed, no tears possible as the heat dried his eyes for him. "Please make it stop."

Harry wailed his pain, twisting and convulsing, trying to escape the slowly advancing flames.

"Mercy, please, mercy!" he begged that which Vipera had offered, no more walls, no more fight, just a need for the horror to be over.

"Stop!" Voldemort granted clemency and suddenly there was nothing, no pain, no more struggle, and light lanced into Harry's eyes.

Stunned and exhausted, Harry collapsed onto the table that held him, and blinked away the brightness of his vision. After such an intense experience, nothing was as much of a shock, and he drifted in a haze that didn't understand the sudden contrasts.

"False fire, Harry," his saviour explained conversationally, "a very effective hallucinogenic spell, don't you think?"

Harry didn't respond as the terrible deception and his surrender to it cowed him with a wave of shame. He had given in to the creature he had sworn would not break him, he had begged for his mercy, and what was worse, he had been granted it.

"You see, Harry, all you had to do was ask for my help, and I gave it: I can be merciful when I am obeyed. I think that is enough for now, Lucius. We shall talk of this later, Harry."

The prisoner just lay limply on the table, even when the ropes holding him were loosened. He had nothing now, no defences and the loss of those protections left him lost and confused. Brutus clipped on the chain to his collar and pulled, but Harry just fell off the table into a boneless heap. He didn't even have the strength to lift himself up from the stones as shock combined with the stresses of the hallucination. Brutus tutted at him, the only sound in the scarily calm chamber, and Harry cowered as his gaoler's large frame loomed over him, but there was no anger or intimidation, just strong arms lifting him up.

"Come on Pup," Brutus's gruff tones were muted as he cradled Harry and headed towards the stairs.

Harry had never been taken back up these stairs conscious, and the stigma of that implication further undermined the young man's self-image. He had begged his gaolers for mercy, and now he had begged his master as well. He had broken, and whatever was to come, Harry knew he had lost.

* * *

He was brooding, he knew he was brooding, but it didn't matter any more. Harry half lay, half sat uncomfortably against the wall, his eyes unfocused and his mind wandering blackly over his life. He had lost, and Harry knew now that no matter what Voldemort decided to do with his toy, he was going to let him. Maybe he would resist for a while, but in the end, he would fold again, and the Dark Lord would have his way. Mentally and physically his enemy had won.

The shock of the defeat was wearing off now, but its impact was going to take much longer to go away. The worst of it was not the fire which had demanded his surrender, it was the suggestion that such evil had been Draco's idea. Always, no matter where they started, his thoughts always ended up in one place, Draco Malfoy. His face sat in Harry's mind's eye, alternately smiling with warmth and sneering in hatred. Lucius' taunting, mentioning new and old conquests of Draco's, insisting that he was never coming back, had left little on which Harry could hang his slim hopes of seeing his lover again. Yet there was one thing: Lucius was still very angry about his son, the aching of his bones and the number of healers that had been through his cell told Harry that, and his master's rage kept a small hope alive. That spark cost Harry, as with it came concern for the Draco's fate, but Harry clung to the feelings, dwelling on them as something real in the otherwise torture-induced nightmare.

Only the tiny warm place in his spirit where what was left of his faith in his lover resided kept Harry from giving in completely and letting madness take him. Even that would desert him soon, the young man knew from the dark images of Draco that were taking over from his memories of their union. Harry closed his eyes and wished he could go mad quickly.

The captive started as the door to his cell unlocked. He curled his legs up under the filthy blanket defensively, and shied away from whoever was coming to play with him now. He only half looked up at the shape in the doorway, but a sound of hopeless joy strangled in his throat as his blurred vision recognised the outline: it was Draco. Harry couldn't help himself, whatever this man had in store for him, he could not hide the only emotions that were really his anymore. As the door closed behind his visitor, the prisoner struggled to his feet and moved towards him. Harry almost fell as he was met halfway and arms came instantly round his weary body. He reached back, and the dark thoughts faded to the back of his mind as his lips met Draco's.

The young man needed the closeness desperately, and his touch demanded the succour. The hands which snaked up his back, and the lips which pressed against his displayed equal fervour as they drew him in as close as possible. Harry gave as much as he had and took for as long as he had strength. Yet he was weak after the relentless revenge of the father and so he was forced to break the kiss with the son. He gasped in air, and buried his face against Draco's neck, trembling the rest of his emotion.

"They wanted me to believe you didn't care."

The hold around him tightened and his partner responded , "I know, I'm sorry. They came for me that morning, used a charm on you to stop you waking."

"Where have you been?" Harry knew he sounded petulant, but it was better than the emotions his torturers had inspired him to with their lies.

"I-I," Draco began, and his companion lifted his head to meet the pain in his tone.

Harry's heart went out as he finally looked into the face he had not yet seen properly. A scar ran down the left side of Draco's features, pale and disappearing, but it was a ghost of extreme violence. Harry recognised the hand of the perpetrator as he took in the shadows of his lover's eyes.

"Oh god, Draco: Lucius?" the young man's sickness came through his expression.

Harry saw the flare of defensive anger before he felt his partner flex against him. He let go, as the shell separated them, and just watched, a little lost, as Draco stalked away across the room.

"He sold my soul to his master," the young man charged bitterly, his lowered face hidden by his unusually free-flowing hair, "so why should this surprise you?"

Harry didn't answer, he waited for the vulnerable gaze to look his way, and then he hoped his face spoke for him. He had thought he understood the monster that was Lucius Malfoy, but this had taken him by surprise, and he could only express his empathy with another victim. Draco turned back to him a way, not completely, there was too much self-disgust in him as he continued, "He always makes sure he doesn't do what can't be healed, even more so now it would displease the Dark Lord."

Harry felt suddenly stronger as his support was needed, and he reached out to his lover. Draco rocked on his heels and looked very much like the child he must have been when the abuse started. Harry could feel the repression in him, and he didn't try and force the moment: this went beyond the war and Voldemort. Still, he was relieved when his partner came back into his arms. They hugged.

"I'm sorry I left it so long, but they're watching me," the blond man pushed past his old feelings back to the present.

"Is it safe now?" Harry asked protectively, frowning his disquiet.

Draco smiled sadly and replied, "Brutus is on an errand, and Crabbe may be terrified of my father and Voldemort, but he remembers our friendship at school, he can be discreet. I had to come: Father came to gloat about what he'd done to you, and I couldn't leave you like that."

The young prisoner stroked his fingers down the scar, and his lover leant in to the touch, closing his deep eyes for a moment. He wanted more than a stolen moment then, he wanted the escape that had been taken away from them. Yet, Harry buried his frustration, knowing it would only spoil the time they had: their freedoms would be small from now on, he could see that, but even these few minutes had restored his soul beyond anything he could have hoped. Harry followed his instincts and leant in for another kiss. Draco's lips parted with the lightest of directions, and each man sought his strength in the other.

* * *

The touch of lips and the closeness of his lover's body ran round in Harry's mind: he was curled against the wall again, but not in despair this time, in fact he was smiling to himself, as with each remembering, his spirit rebuilt another barrier against the depravity of his captors. He was not alone, he had an ally. It had only been an hour or so since Draco's visit, and the prisoner had spent every minute dragging back his defiance with the strength that the younger Malfoy had given him. So they had broken him, it didn't matter, because his faith in his partner fixed it all.

The captive barely moved his head when he heard the cell lock slide back: it wouldn't be Draco again so soon, and he didn't care who else might be there. Brutus or Villainous would be expecting him to be asleep. Anyone else would be novel, but insignificant. However, Harry had miscalculated, and his eyes widened as he recognised Lucius Malfoy. This man had never condescended to come to the cell, his domain was the torture chamber, and the captive sat up at what could only be a bad significance for him. The triumph of the last time Harry had seen his nemesis had been replaced with pathological rage. Harry had no time even to steel himself against an attack as the stormy man let his first curse fly.

"Falaciter accendo!"

His subject screamed as Lucius' invisible fire encased his whole body. Harry's terror came out again as his mind told him that his flesh was searing off his bones, and he could smell his own destruction. This was a dangerous curse, as the shock of a true burns victim quickly began to take Harry, his heart threatening to rip open his chest, but Malfoy didn't seem to care. He held his will over the devastating spell longer than the structured decent of the torture chamber and Harry's cry died as the physical was overwhelmed by the mental. The world disappeared.

* * *

Harry woke with the familiar stink of Brutus filling his nostrils. He gagged, coughed and then groaned as his body told him that however psychosomatic the false fire spell had been, something had happened afterwards which would remind him of it for a while. His whole being prickled, it was a very specific prickle and its intensity told him that he had been hit with the ennervate charm multiple times. The Auror had only been hit by the charm that seriously once before, when he had stopped breathing during an underwater training exercise, but it wasn't a feeling he had forgotten. The extent of Lucius' rage did not escape his captive, and Harry guessed with depressing finality that his rendezvous with Draco had been uncovered.

The prisoner was once again draped over Brutus's shoulder, and the man appeared to have learnt from last time, because his hold tightened uncomfortably around his charge's waist and legs. However, Harry was, this time, in no state to fight back, in fact the only fighting he did was to keep the meagre contents of his belly from returning with the effects of the ingrained stench and swaying of his bearer as they proceeded down stairs. The young man gave no resistance as he was dumped on the ground. His legs buckled, but a shove up against the wall kept him upright, and then he gagged again as Brutus used his body to pin him there. The room was still spinning from being upended, and nothing made much sense, so Harry just choked on bile and capitulated as his arms were lifted and his wrists bound into hoops on the stonework above his head. He sagged against the cold rock as Brutus finished his work and moved away. However, the prisoner was not allowed to relax: Lucius moved back in.

Harry saw stars as a hand caught him under the chin and smacked his head against the wall. He blinked wildly at the sharp face which came within centimetres of his own, but he could only focus on the anger he felt there.

"Prepare to scream like you have never screamed before, Potter," Malfoy intoned, his rage now ice cold. Then he smiled and sneered, "But first, we have to wait for an honoured guest."

The young man's stupor became alarm and despondency as the identity of their guest was not difficult to ascertain. Lucius released his victim and stalked away. As if on cue, Harry heard a familiar voice complaining loudly beyond the door to the tower. Draco was, on the surface, in full spoilt brat mode. However, Harry recognised the trepidation in his now familiar tones. The younger Malfoy came through the door backwards, gesticulating at Crabbe and complaining, "Get your hands off me!"

Draco's indignation was a thin cover for the disquiet he was feeling, and Harry could see it in the way he moved as he turned and looked around the room.

"What the hell is this?" Draco looked to his father, but remained by the door, which his bodyguard was now blocking.

"Draco, welcome," Lucius smiled nastily at his child. "Since you seem to wish to spend so much time here, we thought you should become more intimately involved in what goes on here."

The son looked from his parent to his lover and back again. Harry could hear Draco's breath escaping quickly, but he was too far away to make out the man's features.

"What?"

"Don't deny this, Draco!" Lucius' rage came out as he rounded on his son. "Do you think the Dark Lord would not know where you were every minute of your existence."

The older man grabbed Draco's wrists and turned them up. Draco swore and broke away. His father laughed and another tone joined his. The younger Malfoy froze in the middle of the room as the wall lit up, and he was introduced to his master's voice. Harry gritted his teeth, his empathy reaching for the distress in his partner, but knowing that any expression he made would only make things worse.

"Hello, Draco," Voldemort's voice filled the room, "it has been a long time."

"Bastards!" Draco yelled.

Harry felt the curse before he realised it had left Lucius' mouth: he cried out and shuddered as a gash split open across his chest. He heard his lover draw in a horrified breath and Lucius chided, "How dare you speak to your betters like that, Draco. It only makes your whipping boy suffer."

"No!"

Harry paid for that as well, and he tried to stifle the grunt of pain which accompanied another red line, down his leg this time. The prisoner stared across at his partner and the guilt he could finally make out in the chiselled features found his voice.

"This isn't your fault," he intoned deliberately, trying to show his lover the strength that he had returned to him, but then he screamed as the elder Malfoy hit him with Cruciatus.

The attack was not long, and when he came out of it, the only thing that had changed was him as he hung from his bonds, panting back the silver agony. Draco was a statue, whatever barriers he had for himself were totally absent as Harry was attacked. Self-centred, hedonistic Draco Malfoy had no answer now he cared for someone else, and Lucius went for the weakness with all the rage in him.

"Defy the Dark Lord, and your rent boy suffers for you," the father threatened.

"They'll do it anyway!" Harry spat back, knowing his defiance had to do for both of them.

He gasped for breath as an impact curse smacked him in the ribs: Draco flinched, his horror developing.

"Remember your place, Draco," Voldemort interjected calmly.

"Don't listen."

This time the blond man took a rapid step back, appalled at the crack of bone as Lucius' wand inflicted damage to Harry's leg. The captive cried out as his limb gave out under him, and tears blurred his vision. He could only see vague shapes now, and the pain made everything hazy, but his heart wrenched as he made out his lover turning on his heel. The elder Malfoy's triumphant laugh cut through his spirit, and he jeered, "Running away, Son?"

Harry let his chin rest on his chest and closed his blind eyes. Yet he couldn't block out the sounds of the world around him, and he heard his partner flee.

"Get out of my way!"

"Crabbe, take him to my chambers."

"Yes, Sir."

"We'll talk later, Draco."

Harry tried to bolster his spirits as he heard the door shut, and he fought his weakness to lift his head. Lucius helped him in his aim as he grabbed his hair and brought them face to face. The young man couldn't help it, he laughed at the fury which still hung in his captor's features. He was mad, this was mad, it couldn't be happening, no-one could be this cruel. Malfoy released him and stepped back, caught unawares by the hysterical little chuckle. The sound could have grown, Harry could feel it in his belly, but he wasn't given that luxury.

"Lucius."

"My Lord?" the lackey turned to his master for a moment as the Dark Lord's calm tones interrupted his victim's insanity.

"Impress me."  



	11. Never a Chattel

He couldn't move. Harry woke with a scream on his lips as the pain in his limbs was almost unbearable, and his helplessness sent stabs of fear through his soul as he could not even lift a hand to try and stop it. Someone swore: there were lots of people around him, and he was lying down and there was magic everywhere. A hand came rapidly to rest on his forehead, and a voice complained, "We have to knock him out again."

"No, we have our orders."

"This is disgusting, I can't do it."

"Yes you bloody can. We all have to."

"The shock could kill him."

"Then we all die."

"Well one way or the other we better get on with it."

The wizard who had reached to him bent down close to Harry for a moment. The young man tried to concentrate through the mind-bending hurt on the voice which spoke to him softly, "I'm sorry. The mending will be difficult, but we will try to be quick."

He could only cough his recognition of Julian Maersmith as he realised that he wasn't in the torture chamber anymore. Lucius had been given free reign, and the young man did not, thankfully, remember much of the last few hours. However, his present reminders were enough to keep his thoughts in the half-place between lucidity and delirium, and he could not form any words to meet his healer's concern. Yet the hand pressed one more time against his head, and Julian repeated, "I'm sorry. This is all we can do."

Something was pressed against his lips, and Harry opened his mouth. The taste of leather touched his tongue as a flat bit slid between his teeth. Then Julian's touch was gone, and Harry felt the magic close around him again. He was held fast by a barrier, but it was not one for pain, and Harry quickly discovered the sensation of his fibres re-knitting; it was excruciating. The patient held on to his pain for a moment, but as it mixed once more with the nightmare images in his memory, he let his cry out between his clenched jaws. The mixture of present and past was too much, and Harry swooned.

* * *

Harry shifted weakly; it was a small comfort that he could move again and most of the agony was gone. He'd woken and fainted too many times to really care about anything except that the worst seemed to be over, but he groaned as his movement told him that his body was far from perfect. Almost instantly a cool relief was pressed against his brow and it drew his mind away from the pain for a moment. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes and the pale, strained face of Maersmith came into view leaning over him. This close, the patient could see the trauma of what this healer had had to do in his eyes: he had heard them swear their disbelief, all of them, men and women of healing as they cast their mendings and now Harry saw that the shock of Lucius' cruelty had not worn off at least for his present company. Oddly the young man felt sympathy for the shadows his treatment had created in his carer's gaze.

"How is it?" the only man left asked with a tremble in his voice.

"Bearable," Harry chose to be honest, his breathing jagged as his ribs ached.

Julian looked away, and his patient thought he saw tears in his eyes.

"The worst is over, but the healing will take a few days to complete. I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to give you anything," the traumatised Healer sighed, but more came out of his mouth in a hasty confession, "I can't believe we did this. We heal people, we don't torture them."

"I understand," the Harry returned quickly: he didn't want Lucius' personal vendetta to cause more nightmares.

The medical wizard's stare showed surprise at the absolution as he lifted his attention back to his subject. Harry couldn't handle this man's pain as well as his own, so he looked away to the ceiling and requested, "May I have some water, please?"

Maersmith seemed as relieved as his patient at the dismissal, and without another word he stood up from the stool on which he was seated and scuttled away. Harry watched the troubled man's back for a moment, but all his resources were low, and so he closed his eyes and tried to find a still place inside away from reality. He didn't reach it, because the quiet medibay suddenly filled with commotion. The young man shrank away from a streak of blond that came at him, memories of Lucius at the front of his mind. Yet his senses caught up as the figure came close and suddenly there were lips on his. Harry pushed through all the pain to respond to the tenderness he needed badly. Yet the brush of mouths did not last long and he shivered as Draco hovered close but whispered in his ear, "I don't have long. This ends tonight. Your wand is now under the mattress."

The blond man stood away then, his eyes flashing with an inspired defiance, and Harry held his gaze for a long second, drawing in all the support from it that he could. His weakened head was spinning with the sudden activity as Healer and guards hovered a little way off, unsure how to handle the rebellion of a nominal superior. They were not left to deal with him alone, however, because the storm in the younger Malfoy was nothing compared to the ire in the elder as he came charging into the room. Draco spun to meet his father's rage, tall and bold enough for both captives. Harry's spirit swelled with pride for the power in his lover as he stared down his furious parent.

"Get out of here!" Lucius yelled, his coherence level close to breaking.

"No more orders, Lucius!" Draco snarled back. "Never again."

The father brought up his palm faster than he could have drawn his wand and Harry flinched for Draco, who seemed too pumped up to care. The swipe across his face was made with such force that Draco fell back into Maersmith, who was hovering like a frightened rabbit behind him. There was outraged silence for a few seconds as Lucius glared and Draco straightened his stance, but Harry saw the explosion coming in the balls of his lover's fists and the tension in his shoulders. Like a catch had been released on a spring, the young man flew at his parent with a cry of sheer hatred. Lucius was by no means defenceless, but the purity of his son's ferocity clearly took him by surprise, and Draco barrelled in to him before he even raised his guard.

"I am not some chattel!" Draco screamed, backing his words with a punch as father and son slammed into the wall. "I was not yours to give to Him."

Harry bit his lip as he saw the grief of five years come out in the almighty rage.

Lucius landed a fist into his child's ribs, but Draco didn't even notice. He was as tall as his father, and contained twice the fury and he just pinned him to the wall and kept hitting. The wizards witnessing the fight were clearly horrified, but unsure what to do. It was only as a breathless Crabbe came flying into the room that anything was done. The large man grabbed Draco around the neck and hauled him off his parent. Lucius seemed frozen by the snarling mass of hatred that was his son, and he merely watched, his perfect persona lost in shaking, unkempt anger as Crabbe did the sensible thing and pulled Draco towards the door.

"I am not His," Draco screamed, struggling unsuccessfully with his bodyguard. "I am not yours. I don't have a father!"

Then he was gone, his irate complaints disappearing quickly down the corridor outside. The stunned company took a while to recover from the onslaught, and then Lucius moved. Instantly, his two hospital guards scrambled over to him to offer assistance. However, he batted them away and his attention rounded on his prisoner. Harry knew it was a bad idea to show his torturer defiance, but Draco's information bolstered his own fight, and he let Lucius see it. He was too weak to move much in the time it took the elder Malfoy to close the gap between himself and the bed and he had no defence as the man leant on his aching ribs. Harry gritted his teeth, and his pain came out in a whine as the still-healing bones complained at the pressure, but he glared up at his oppressor.

"Don't get your hopes up, Potter," Lucius sneered, "you are merely one of many tantrums my son has had before. He will forget you."

Harry's denial tumbled away with a difficulty breathing and the dizziness it caused. He swooned and the heavy pain let up. The elder Malfoy was already stalking away when his senses came back properly. The young man blinked after him, unable to focus, but his main concentration was on trying to get air back into his lungs. Each cough or gasp sent spasms of pain through his body, which caused more choking, and increased the shudders. Harry could feel himself begin to black out again as his senses swam in overload. Yet, then there was a beaker at his lips, and the young man swallowed its bitter contents. Just the gentle touch behind his head brought the patient out of the pain cycle, and his tremors calmed as he looked up gratefully at a very anxious Maersmith.

"This water should clear your throat," the Healer spoke clearly so that his associates, who were returning to the door could hear. "Let me know if you want more."

Harry nodded as he was released back onto the pillows and tried to say thank you, but his voice disappeared in a thin squeak. Julian gave him a watery smiled and patted his arm before he walked off and disposed of what was left his own form of rebellion.

* * *

Harry stared restlessly up at the dark ceiling. After a light bowl of broth and a good sleep thanks to Maersmith's secret pain relief, the patient had woken as the sunset had turned the sky red. His bones were aching, and his conspirator had been relieved by another wizard, so he had had to put up with the left-over pain, but he was feeling somewhat stronger. He'd spent the evening surreptitiously stretching his muscles while trying to give the impression of still being weak as a baby. As it was, he didn't think he could walk unaided, and he was just hoping that whatever Draco had planned did not involve running. The excited prisoner had been turning scenarios through his head for hours, trying to work out what his lover had organised, and his heart was thumping with the anticipation of escape. The last week had been the worst of his life, trapped between lies and torture, and the hope Draco had given him refused to be stifled behind his injuries. It had taken a suspicious examination from the new Healer, followed by some pathetic overacting for Harry's caution to win out over his restlessness, and he had pretended to go to sleep.

Once the lights had gone out save for a dim glow from his watcher's office, the young man had risked recommencing his preparations for Draco's arrival, covering his movements with the occasional groan of an uncomfortable patient.

A muffled thud from outside the medibay alerted Harry's anxious ears to a possible change in the still night. Unfortunately, it also drew the attention of his Healer, who headed to the door, wand in hand. Shortly, the man came flying back through the opening and landed in an unconscious heap by his office wall. A dark figure followed him in, and Harry struggled to sit up. There was the sound of wood hitting the floor and then arms slid around his shoulders and offered their support. The injured man recognised his lover's touch without needing further communication, and he leant into it for a moment, breathing hard and realising with dismay just how weak he really was.

"Don't push too hard," Draco soothed, his tone surprisingly sure.

"I don't think I can walk," Harry whispered back anxiously.

His companion hugged at bit tighter for a moment, and cajoled "With these bloody runes, I'm just brawn, so I will do the manual work, I need you to do the spell casting if we come up against any Death Eaters."

"Okay," Harry returned, trying to bury his trepidation with some of his comrade's confidence.

"Good," Draco patted his shoulder and then handed him a dressing gown from out of a pack over his shoulder. "Can you manage this?"

"Mmm," Harry gave the affirmative and gritted his teeth as he manoeuvred more definitely to pull the clothing on.

Meanwhile, his partner reached under the head of the mattress and pulled out the wand. As the young man took it, he suddenly felt a wave of rightness run through him: this really was his wand, not some stolen replacement, and it gave him a sense of protection back.

"Where did you find it?" he asked incredulously.

Draco knelt back from him and shrugged, a smug little smile lit up by the office glow and he replied, "It's amazing what Lucius keeps in his chambers in places he doesn't think I know about. Underestimating his enemies is one of his greatest faults."

His companion saw the darkness run across Draco's eyes with the final words, and he didn't like it, but he could understand it. He felt for the loneliness which came with the implications of Draco's statement and he reached out a hand to it. His lover had lost himself to the hatred for a second, and he blinked as Harry fingers closed around his arm. Harry saw his thoughts jump back to the present and then Draco stood up.

"Now," he began breathily, pulling the sheet back off Harry's legs, "we have to move as fast as possible. If Voldemort hasn't already realised that I'm not safely locked in my room anymore, he soon will, and the diversion at the other end of the castle is not going to last for ever."

"Diversion?"

"I found us some allies," Draco answered shortly, and Harry didn't feel like asking any more questions as moving became his greatest thought.

His companion helped him drop his legs over the edge of the bed, and his body complained, but it was nothing compared with the overwhelming hurt that came as Draco pulled his arm over his shoulders and hauled him to standing. Harry gasped and sagged against his partner, seeing stars, and trying to lose the instinctive cry in his lack of breath. Draco grabbed him round the waist and steadied them both as the world slipped to the side for a second. The pain eased to an ache after the initial test of his limbs, and Harry returned to reality, shaking, but still upright and still clasping his wand firmly in his hand.

"Alright?"

Harry nodded with dumb determination as he came to terms with the state of his being. He forced himself to take a step forward, and little needles shot up his leg, but they were bearable and he pushed them to the back of his mind with a small grunt. Draco took this as a positive sign, and the next couple of paces were quicker, too quick; Harry whined and they lurched sideways as he lost his footing. They stopped again. The injured wizard laid his head on his partner's shoulder for a moment and found himself laughing at an image of them staggering round the castle like a couple of drunks, that slipped into his brain and he sighed, "More haste, less speed."

Draco looked across at him and raised an eyebrow, he just smiled, his spirits high at this chance and the news of allies.

"Again?" the blond man asked, and indicated at the door. Harry nodded, gritted his teeth and they began again.

* * *

Harry wasn't really sure where they were, but Draco seemed to know where they were going, so he was just relying on him. So far he'd thrown several very successful disabling curses, surprising himself with his presence of mind, if not body, and enjoying the sensations of the magic being really right. He'd missed his wand, it was part of him, they had chosen each other, and with the piece back, he was able to push aside the vulnerability of the castle dog which had been ingrained into his soul. However, the spells were taking their toll on Harry, and his weakening weight was taking its toll on Draco. They were more or less progressing down a corridor, both gasping for breath at the effort it was taking to move, and the world was swimming in front of Harry's eyes.

"Got to stop," he gave in reluctantly to the warning signs that he was about to pass out.

It was only then that he realised they were in a cloistered part of the castle on the ground floor, because Draco aimed them at one of the archways and they crashed onto the small seat that was there. Harry sank against the stonework, breathing hard and looked up at his companion who was leaning protectively over him.

"Sorry," he sighed, letting out some of his guilt, but a hand came to rest on his shoulder and Draco squeezed supportively.

"We've come a long way," Draco assured through his own wheezes. "Only just down here and we're out."

That information bolstered Harry's failing will power, and he closed his eyes to gather it all up again. He opened them again as Draco sat down next to him, and he glanced across at the determined features which scanned the gloom of the hallway. He'd seen this man below the surface, holding the many facets that were Draco Malfoy together, but the strength of purpose in his lover, so blatant as it was now, was almost frightening to Harry, definitely exciting. Draco Malfoy had chosen a path, and now, with the catalyst Harry had given him, he was treading it; Harry decided that he was glad to be beside his friend and not in his way.

The blond man realised he was being watched, and surprised his companion as he met his gaze. Harry knew he didn't need to word his admiration, but he opened his mouth anyway. However, he stopped the sound in his throat as footsteps running on stone came tripping down the corridor. The wizard gripped his wand more firmly and leant forward for a better view of the immediate area. He saw the black robe and female boots lit by dim moonlight and he gave the owner no chance to fight back as he cast a stunner. Only as the woman fell did Harry get a flash of red hair in the same moonlight, and he recognised Ginny. The young man's concern almost got him to his feet, but Draco's arm very sensibly held him in place as his companion also recognised the researcher.

"Stay there," Draco ordered firmly as he stood and went to check on the still form.

Harry watched anxiously, his knowledge of the Imperius curse wiping away any disquiet he had had about his last midnight encounter with his old friend. Draco quickly assessed their latest victim and then crossed back to Harry with, "She'll be fine."

Then he reached for his partner's arm. However, Harry resisted and announced, "She's coming with us."

His lover's face clouded and he warned, "I can't carry you both, and we can't wake her up, she'll scream the place down."

"I lost her brother," Harry stared right into Draco's argument, his emotions rising, "I will not leave her in this place!"

Malfoy stepped back and glanced from Harry to Ginny and back again. His face showed that he was torn between his own pragmatism and his partner's loyalties, but Harry knew that whatever happened now, there were three escapees. The quandary was interrupted by the sound of movement from further down the corridor, and as he caught the swirling of shadows out of the corner of his eye, Harry raised his wand. A cool, familiar tone stopped him mid-cast with, "Disabling your rescuers would be very foolhardy, Mr Potter."

Severus Snape stepped into view, and Harry couldn't say he was glad to see him, he was never glad to see the snide man who had done his best to make his school days hell, but he was relieved and grateful. Draco spun to meet his ex-Housemaster, and expressed his surprise with, "Professor!"

"Mr Malfoy," Severus greeted with a slight nod of his head, and Harry thought he heard something other than icy observance in the man's tone as he enlightened, "I am gratified that my supposition that you were the sender of the House Elf has proven correct. Transport is outside, shall we?"

Draco smiled widely and nodded as Snape indicated down the corridor. "Take Harry, I'll get Ginny."

Harry wasn't sure he was comfortable with being helpless in the hold of his one-time potion's professor, but he had little choice as Snape quickly crossed to him. The young man did not want to show any weakness to his uneasy ally, and as hands came around his shoulders, he tried to stand up. However, his defensiveness opened him more widely than would have accepting the help, as pain ran up his body and his legs gave out. Severus' quick reflexes caught him before he fell, and pulled him in against his heavy cloak. Harry groaned and shuddered away the shock. His bearer just stood rock-like and silent as he recovered, and only shifted his weight for walking as Harry moved more definitely. The weak man was expecting a rebuke as he heard Snape draw breath, but he received a rather more tempered piece of advice than he was expecting. "Gently, Potter, we have a little time yet."

Harry didn't know how to respond to anything but the usually caustic comments he shared with Severus Snape, so he stayed silent and just followed the recommendation. He let his supporter do the work of aiming them in the right direction and summoned up all the will power he had left to put one foot in front of the other.

* * *

It didn't take long for Harry's resolve to whittle away to just remaining conscious. He was almost a dead weight draped against Severus' side, and the world was swimming, but he could see a grey shape looming out of the showery night ahead of them, and he was determined not to pass out before reaching the goal. The struggling young man could not tell what it was to which they were heading, all he could see was a lump of grey-green which was wider than it was tall whose edges were shifting as his eyesight failed. As they got even closer, Harry decided it was a hedge to which they were heading, but then someone opened a door in the foliage nearest them and got out. The someone looked like a walking bush themselves, and it was only as they came to help Snape with his charge and spoke that recognition made sense of the green mop of hair that was all Harry could make out in the moonlight.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks whispered her greeting as she leant her strength to keeping him upright. "By all the gods, you look awful."

'Evening, Tonks,' was what the young man tried to say, but it came out as a mixture of letters that didn't make any sense. A lack of conversational skill in her companion did not seem to bother the Auror, however, because she continued chattily as she manoeuvred him towards the _hedge_, "So who're your friends?"

Draco had been covering their retreat with Ginny in his arms, and Tonks answered her own question as he reached them.

"Oh!" came out, somewhere between shocked and defensive, and Harry didn't like the edge to her words as she observed, "Looks like you were right, Severus. But what's wrong with Ginny?"

"Imperius," the younger Malfoy informed her, his tone also somewhat hostile.

"Enough," Snape interrupted the dialogue, "of the chit chat. Into the car, Remus and Moody will be here soon."

Harry tried to help as he was manhandled into the back of the vehicle, which he discovered was under the foliage, but he wasn't of any great assistance. The seat on which he was sat also appeared to be a miniature forest, and he sunk into the leaves, breathing hard and trying to focus on his fellow Auror's face as she knelt in front of him. He hadn't seen Tonks since going to America, but he'd kept all her postcards. The woman had been his ally during the hard training that he and most of his friends had gone through before being ready for war, and as with all his other friends, he'd missed her. Despite the danger they were in, she was still smiling broadly, and patted his arm supportively.

"Good to have you back, Harry," she said.

Draco clambered into the back seat next to Harry and slid Ginny carefully into the corner, propping her up. He then ran his arm around his lover's shoulders and gratefully, Harry leant in to him. Harry was vaguely aware of the startled way in which Tonks sat back on her heels, but he didn't really care about much except the comfort that he felt close to his partner. Everything was aching to a point where he couldn't remember a time when it didn't hurt, and he closed his eyes wearily.

"Is this car warded?" his lover asked urgently.

"As requested," Tonks answered slowly, suspicion heavy in her voice, and she returned a question, "Why?"

Harry opened his eyes a slit to see Draco hold out his free wrist for inspection.

"Bind runes, oh I can get rid of those," the woman announced glibly and swung her wand.

Alarm daggered through Harry, and his partner shifted rapidly.

"No!" Draco yelled and grabbed for the end of the wand.

Harry meant to say the same thing, but his sound came out more like a howl. The world spun at the hasty movements, and the injured man felt himself slipping down his companion's chest, unable to stop himself, but his panic settled into total exhaustion as Tonks backed off the spell. Malfoy let go of the wand and moved to help his lover as he explained, "Bad idea. If the car wasn't protected, they'd tell Voldemort," Tonks drew in an uncomfortable breath at the name, "exactly where I am, but getting rid of them would be worse."

"If you say so," the woman wrinkled her nose.

Harry closed his eyes again as he realised the incident was over and let the world drift. He wasn't keeping track of how long he spent half-asleep, he was just glad that it didn't hurt too much. However, he was woken by shouts and the bright sparks of visible magic coming from outside.

"Start 'er up!" Moody's voice ordered to Snape, who was now in the driving seat, and then two bodies dived into the passenger seat.

Harry watched blearily as two pairs of arms and legs decided who they belonged to, and out of the mass of body parts emerged Remus Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody. The door of the car closed without any aid from the two wizards, and the engine started with a touch of the driver's wand.

"Hello, Harry," Remus leant over the seat and smiled; Harry thought he smiled back at the magic and smoke battered man, but he couldn't be sure because the world was beginning to fade.

"Right again then Severus," Moody didn't turn round, but his eye was on them, Harry could feel it. "Now lets see if Weasley was right about this heap of junk only needing a little boost."

The wounded man felt the car lurch in a familiar fashion, and his last experience of the waking world was the recognition of the now jungle-equipped Ford Anglia.


	12. Shades of Grey and Light

He was warm and pain-free, and Harry was vaguely aware of people close by from time to time, but mostly he slept. Nothing reached him inside a safe cocoon, it was close around and through him, and kept his senses dim. Magic held him: the wizard knew this, even though only partly conscious, and for the longest time, he accepted it, taking the comfort that oblivion offered. Yet with time came strength, and with strength, the relief of his own little world faded for Harry. Magic was part of his being, but it had been used against him too often too recently for his instincts to lie easy with more, however safe it felt. With Harry's discomfort, the cocoon went away.

Still, the weak young man woke only long enough to accept a familiar voice telling him to rest. However, eventually, that same familiar voice close by brought Harry from sleep wondering if being 23 had all been a dream. Madame Pomfrey and Harry Potter had shared a more intimate relationship than most students and their school nurses due to the inordinate amount of time the youth had spent in her medibay. Therefore, waking up with the formidable lady's words in his ears took Harry back to the years before the terror had begun.

The young man opened his eyes and sunk back down to ground, as, even out of focus, it was quickly obvious that his surroundings were not Hogwarts of either the present or past, and fully conscious, his body let him know that he hadn't just fallen off his broom while chasing the snitch. He was in a hospital bed, but the walls of the room in which he was lying were made of smooth concrete, not stone, and the ceiling was much lower. Harry turned his head, accompanied more by the discomfort of unused muscles than any pain, and laid his eyes on Poppy Pomfrey, stood by a potion's trolley, hands on hips and by her tone, completing a reprimand which Harry's addled brain could not work out.

Her source of ire was stood at the door, and was one of the last people Harry had seen before passing out, Mad-Eye Moody. The distinctive Auror was stood by the door, his face in more of a scowl than usual; however, the exchange between the two people had finished, and so the awakener was given no clue as to what it had been about. The healer turned back to her trolley, where she continued to mix something in a beaker, and Harry surprised himself as he thought of Julian Maersmith. Unfortunately, all the experiences which came with the memory of the man came pouring into the patient's waking brain; he wasn't ready for the adrenalin that the fresh memories inspired, and he let out a hasty breath as the onslaught threatened to overwhelm him. Within seconds, Moody was hovering at the end of his bed, and Madame Pomfrey was there by his side, and her calm, unhurried hand slipped into his.

"Harry, how are you feeling?" she asked, smiling reassuringly.

The young man didn't have an answer, and his nurse must have seen it in his face, because she squeezed his hand and continued, "A bit groggy, I expect. I've had you in a stabilizing field for seventy two hours: the healing inside you was all over the place. When Professor Snape informed me that you had walked out of the castle, I could scarcely believe it."

"Needed a lot, no barriers," Harry mumbled, not really thinking about what he was saying, but being used to confessing all to this familiar healer.

The carer gave no verbal indication that he'd made any sense at all in what he'd said, but Harry received another supportive squeeze of his hand before she glanced at Moody. The grim-faced man just crossed his arms and nodded to the patient. Harry was dimly aware that he had caused some discomfort in the normally self-present woman, but he didn't know what it was. However, it slipped into the background as the healer recovered herself and began again, "Well, you're safe with us now. It is not that long since I treated you for me not to remember that a steaming bowl of chicken soup always made you feel better."

Harry smiled and nodded and his stomach growled as his brain caught up with how empty it was.

"Right then, first we'll get you sat up, and then I'll have some brought along."

Harry put himself gratefully into the capable hands of Poppy Pomfrey, ignoring Moody, who reminded him too much of the war, and enjoying the feeling of being that little bit younger, which his associations with his carer gave him. She cajoled and bullied him in equal measure into a sitting position, plumped up on a thousand pillows, and then she hurried off to organise an answer to his belly's grumbling.

Only once Poppy was gone did the young man relax. He let the pillows take all his weight and absently rubbed his forehead; it took him a few moments to realise that, for the first time in a long while, his scar was silent, and it felt strange, but peaceful. That peace lasted as long as it took him to look back at his remaining observer. Almost instantly, he didn't like the look he was being given. Mad-Eye was a disturbing enough vision when he wasn't grimacing, but despite the gap of years, Harry had spent forty eight months working with his fellow Order-member, and he could tell that Moody was about to deliver bad news. The young man didn't want bad news, he wanted smiles and comfort, and with the mists of safety evaporating, he frowned at his comrade.

"Welcome back, Harry," the hard-bitten Auror began in his normal gruff tones, unfolding his arms, but staying between the end of the bed and the door.

Harry had the distinct impression that his companion's position was significant, and he had a second feeling of emotional discomfort as he gathered that Moody was not in the room entirely for his benefit.

"What is it, Moody?" he asked defensively.

Alastor Moody gave a hrmph!, and his magic eye spun around in his head, but he then nodded with a smile of resignation.

"You been taking perception lessons?" he asked off-handedly, but continued without waiting for a reply, "You've been to hell and back, boy; the others will be here soon, and they'll be wanting to wrap you in cotton wool because of it, but you and I both know you're better off with all the facts."

Harry wasn't sure his emotions agreed right then, but the logical part of his brain reminded him of the last time he hadn't had all the facts: Sirius death was not something the young man had ever come to terms with, but he had learnt from it, and so he nodded at his companion silently.

"I'm you're friend, Harry," the gnarled man reminded him, and there was some warmth in his gravely voice, "and I am glad that you're out of that monster's hands, but --," Harry gritted his teeth, "- you were out of sight for twenty four days."

[So that is how long,] Harry mused, knowing he was using the facts to stop his emotions from impacting him too much.

Moody, unaware of his subject's internal mutterings, carried on, "Malfoy told us what he knows about what happened to you in that castle."

At the mention of his lover, the young man's need for facts took a left turn and he demanded, "Draco, how -- where is he?"

His companion appeared momentarily startled by the sharpness in Harry, but his expression settled to a suspicion that didn't look new. He folded his arms again and answered coolly, "Malfoy is well enough, he's being kept in a warded cell so those runes of his don't let the world know where we are. Our people have been debriefing him along with the Resistance: interesting story he had to tell."

The patient's frown grew darker at the mistrust he read in Moody; he should have been used to it, the man had always been world-weary and cynical, but against what he knew and had experienced with Draco, it brought Harry's defences right up. The more-experienced Auror could not miss his comrade's hackles as they rose, and he smiled.

"Hit a nerve, boy, well sorry, but this is war and we don't take chances," Moody countered, unconcerned by the hostility. "And as I was saying, you're a chance. Twenty four days in your own personal torture chamber has to change a man, and coupled with the fact that you've been out of the loop for three years, you could be a liability too."

Harry looked away then, smarting from the blunt disclosure; he didn't need this now, he had fought so hard to get out, and now he was facing more difficulties. He wanted his friends, support, comfort, not to be told that they didn't trust him.

"Look boy," Harry was drawn back by a change in Moody's voice, a softer edge of compassion, and his old-ally was leaning on the edge of the bed, "I know it's hard, and we're all on your side, but you have to understand that there's more than just you involved here. We risk everything every time we make a decision, and so they don't come easy. We're all behind you, you'd have the entire Order in your corner if we could fit 'em, but I'm warning you that you're going to need patience. There'll be a load of questions and more people asking them, and you're going to resent it. Trust doesn't come quickly round here anymore, but if it's deserved, it will come."

"And why don't you trust me, Moody?" Harry decided to be direct as well, it gave him some defence against his feelings.

The Auror stood straight again, but he didn't avoid the question, in fact he stared straight at his comrade, his magic eye perfectly still.

"Malfoy."

The young man smiled grimly. There hadn't been much opportunity for anyone to ascertain his relationship to Draco, but Tonks had seen something between them in the car, and it appeared, so had Moody. Harry couldn't be sure, but he was pretty convinced that the younger Malfoy would not have been totally open about the affair, and even in the short disclosure, he could see the Auror fishing for information. Instead of providing for what Moody was looking, the young man chose to fish himself, and observed, "And yet you acted on the word of a House Elf that Snape surmised he had sent."

"Snape's guesses aside," Moody countered, clearly disquieted by the lack of response to his unspoken question, "we'd been looking for a way to get you out since getting information that you were at Hogwarts. The elf seemed convinced that he was doing good by delivering the message, and we thought it was worth the risk."

"Thank you," Harry was caught unawares by the gratitude that came out in the simple words; his emotions tumbled over each other, the defensive hurt mixing with the relief of safety and the appreciation he felt for the chances his comrades had taken for him. The confusion actually gave him a little perspective, and Moody must have seen it in his softening features, because he risked asking, "Just between you and me, Harry, what does Malfoy have on you?"

The young man chose not to follow the hostility which could have risen again; Moody was not going to change, he was naturally suspicious, and after three years away, Harry had to get used to that again.

"We found out we're the same," he answered with a secret little smile that the admission brought to his lips.

Alastor's eyebrows hit his hairline, but Harry wasn't ready to explain in more detail. When the walls had come down, then he could expose his feelings for scrutiny, but not now, not when trust didn't exist. For now, enigma would have to satisfy.

* * *

The spoon slipped back into the half-full bowl, and Harry pushed the table on which it stood away from him, sinking back into the pillows. He was still hungry, but his stomach was churning with all that Moody had told him, and no more food was going to stay down. Self-consciously, his fingers found the constriction around his throat; the collar was still stubbornly marking him out from the crowd, separating him from his friends, and he hated it (it was better than hating anything else).

However much he disliked what his comrade had had to say, Harry couldn't deny the logic behind it. In the grips of his agonies, the prisoner hadn't thought about afterwards, the consequences of Voldemort's cruelty, or how others would treat him. There had only been the slim chance of escape, the smallest of hopes, and anything beyond that had not even entered his consciousness. Now he was in the midst of freedom, it felt strange, and daunting, and the young man was finding it difficult to deal with the complexities that Moody had laid before him. He wanted simple black and white, good and evil, but he was being faced with shades of grey, of which he was one. What had his incarceration done to him? How far had three years in exile taken him away from his colleagues and friends? Harry wasn't sure, and it showed in his discomfort, and he pulled at the collar. The leather just cut into his neck and he let go with a frustrated growl. He closed his eyes and tried to reign in the bundle of emotions which accompanied his new position.

Harry was drawn out of his cerebral mire by a knock at the observation window which looked in to his small, private room. The young man opened his eyes and wondered if he was dreaming. There were six figures standing at the long thin window, and half of them should have been dead. Tonks and Remus were no surprise; Hermione was a beautiful relief, the starkness of their previous encounter gone in the smile that lit her features. However, a beaming Ron Weasley with his arm around his wife made Harry's heart leap, and he nearly choked as beside him stood Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall. Harry pushed back the table even further as an instinct took him towards the edge of his bed, closer to the people whose absence he had grieved. Ron's face went from a slightly smug 'gotcha' grin, to concern and he waved frantically as the patient came dangerously close to the drop off the mattress. The door opened and a cry came through, "Stay where you are, you twit!"

Harry's joy bubbled over in a giggle as the years of grief suddenly felt very strange, but he obeyed the jibe as his best friend appeared in the doorway. Ron hadn't changed, he was still the man whose face could tell a joke or give an order in equal measure, a tall, broad figure, and now Harry could feel the excitement coming off him. In moments there were hands on his shoulders and the young man reached back to the thick set of his companion's torso.

"How?" he asked incredulously, staring into Ron's bright eyes, knowing that the dampness that was being fought back in them was mirrored in his own green gaze.

"Things went nuts after you got the kids out. Some of us escaped into the forest, but they kept us pinned down for weeks. After we were listed as MIA, it was safer to stay out of sight," came out in a rush, and then with a gasp of overwhelming emotion, Ron admitted, "Mate, I wanted to tell you so many times."

Harry couldn't find anything to say, all his emotions hit him in the now familiar train-wreck fashion as he fixated on his companion. This was really his best friend back from the dead, and his elation was incredible. Yet the years he had spent mourning Ron would not go away, in fact the piques of grief he had felt for his ex-partner came back, more powerful than when he had first experienced them. The young man could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears as his mind tried to handle the input, and he hoped the red-head could see the gladness in his face, because he couldn't express it any other way. Thought and feeling took away his power of speech, and Harry dragged in a breath, fighting the debilitating voicelessness.

Movement behind them proved Harry's undoing. The patient shifted his gaze from Ron's close features to the other would-be wraiths who followed him in to the room. Albus and Minerva had been rocks in his life, and when they had gone, the young Auror had fought the weakness of their loss. The foundations they had been would not return as quickly as they had disappeared, and another frailty caught the recovering man by surprise as the swift glance knocked out his senses. Harry coughed and tried to blink away the sudden slide of his consciousness, but the world went negative and his body became feeble.

"Harry?" Ron's concern still made it through to him as at least one sense was still working, and his friend's grip stopped him from falling sideways.

"Stand aside, Mr Weasley," Pomfrey's urgent command also told Harry what was happening around him, and bodies changed position. Hands guided him back on to the pillows, and the healer's calm voice told her patient, "Take deep breaths, Harry, just try to relax."

The young man could do nothing but relax as his muscles turned to water, but the woman's strong presence slowed his heart rate, and brought the world closer. The bright negative started to recede, and Harry drew in a more normal breath as the tightness in his chest eased. His vision eventually focused on Poppy Pomfrey's examining stare, and he blinked at her dumbly. The carer's gaze was looking for comprehension, and when she found it, although her hands remained protectively on his shoulders, the woman rounded her formidable presence on the mass of bodies that were out of focus, hovering anxiously behind her.

"I should never have let you in here so soon," she charged, angry with herself as well as the visitors, "everybody out."

"No!" Harry objected instantly, bright spots dancing in front of his eyes, and he lied, "I'm fine."

"You are not fine, Mr Potter," Poppy scolded, turning back to him, "you have just come out of a major procedure, and this kind of agitation is dangerous. Now, out!"

The patient discovered that his prisoner's fight hadn't quite left him, and he grabbed hold of his healer's arms as she threatened to take away the joy which had possessed him.

"You want to see me agitated, then make them leave," he threatened, the sharp edge of the defiant coming through in his desperation.

Pomfrey froze, and no-one was moving behind her either; what he had said caught up with Harry as he registered the shock on his carer's face, but he chose not to back down from it. However, Poppy Pomfrey had dealt with a lot more than petulant patients in her long career, and her features hardened from shock into determination far greater than that of her patient, and he knew that threats weren't going to help his cause. Harry let go. Yet, the young man's desperation remained, even as the confrontational side of him disappeared, and as the healer prepared to stand, he grabbed for her hands.

"I'm sorry, please don't send them away," he begged honestly.

Poppy paused again, her prudence warring with her compassion at the appeal. Harry just showed her his wordless need and waited. He was rewarded when she squeezed his fingers and nodded. Her face was stern, but her voice had soft edges as she warned, "Alright, but a few minutes only, and then you are going to rest."

Her patient nodded sincerely, and the woman seemed satisfied. As his nurse stood up, he sagged back into the pillows, despite his earlier protests of good health, and decided to let the world come to him. He had expended most of his energy in the minor altercation, and he closed his eyes a moment as the healer left, and people shifted position.

"Harry, are you sure you're alright for this now?" Hermione showed her responsible side, and it made her subject smile.

"Hmm," he responded, choosing honesty again, "just a bit dizzy."

"Sorry about the shock, Mate," Ron joined in and took his place on the edge of the bed again.

"We had not intended such an adverse reaction," Dumbledore's smooth, familiarly unruffled tones drew his ex-pupil's attention.

Harry squinted at him, trying to make out features, but he was just too far away.

"Neither did I," the young man shrugged good-naturedly.

"Maybe these'll help," Tonks announced, and held out something from the position she had taken up on the other side of the bed.

Harry took a moment to recognise the blurred outline of a pair of spectacles, and then he grinned as his world took another step back up.

"Thanks," he breathed sincerely, and his fingers closed around light metal frames.

"Sorry they're not you're normal style," Tonks chatted as he slipped them on to his nose, "but we didn't have much time."

"Maybe it's time for a change anyway," Harry decided, and he beamed round at all the faces as the room came into focus. "It is really good to see you all."

Affirmations of agreement came from all directions, and the young man stamped on all the emotions which were jamming up behind his eyes again, he was not going to give Pomfrey an excuse to isolate him.

"It is gratifying to have you back with us, Harry," Albus underlined the sentiment coming from the gathered company in his normal reserved manner, and the young man met his gaze. The face which hid behind the yards of beard was passive, but the glint of water in his eyes told Harry how deeply the statement was meant.

"We've been so worried," Minerva drew his attention with a far less controlled disclosure, and her hand was at her lips as she tried to hold in tears.

One of his rocks on the verge of crying was not something Harry could take, and he reached out to her and urged with a tremble in his voice, "Don't cry, please don't cry, else I'll cry and that'll just be embarrassing."

The tears still fell, nothing would hold them back, but they were accompanied by the strong woman's laugh as she took hold of both her friend's hands. Harry managed to hang on to his own roller-coaster of emotions behind a confused smile that spoke of the comfort he felt around these people. No-one interrupted the moment between the man and his old head of house. Professor McGonagall had fought for her pupil, true to her word in helping him to become an Auror, and he had never forgotten the support and long nights she had put in to help him pass his N.E.W.T.s. After school, the war had taken over most lives, but Hogwarts had remained, proud and resilient, a boon to all who had known it, and those who still remained in safety behind its walls. In black days, Minerva had welcomed the visits of her sometimes troubled mentee to her study, and their friendship had developed on a more equal footing. Harry had missed their long conversations.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and his long-time second-in-command sat rapidly down in the chair his magic provided, her age showing just a little as she took her emotions in hand. Harry let go of her grasp and sat back again as he was forced to take account of how weak he was. The expression cost him a moment of bright spots, and he used a brief close of his eyes and a long breath to settle himself.

"Harry, you shouldn't exert yourself," Hermione again held up the absent Pomfrey's end, and her friend smiled to himself.

The hardship of their last conversation came back to him, but it was dwarfed by the warmth which he felt as he recalled the risk she had taken day after day for him, and as he opened his eyes, he looked over to the young woman where she was sat behind her husband, and told her, "I got your messages, thank you."

Hermione drew in small breath, and Harry wondered if he was about to make someone else cry. However, the feelings came out in a rushed admission as she gabbled, "You saw them? Oh, I didn't know if you'd get them, but it was all I could think of, and I had to try. I couldn't say much, but -- but-."

Ron and Harry looked at each other as their long-time companion's brain went into mixed-up information overload, and with a knowing smile, it was the red-head who reached out to his wife to calm her. Harry watched the sight he'd never thought to see again, content for a moment as husband wrapped an arm around his spouse and she leant in to him with a light laugh and a shake of her thick hair.

"Draco got them to me."

It wasn't quite like mentioning the Dark Lord's name, but Harry felt the atmosphere chill as he spoke of his lover. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, his face grave, hers uncertain. Harry frowned, suddenly uncomfortable and looked across at Tonks and Remus. The Auror's eyes were anywhere but on him, and his ex-professor's gaze took him over to Minerva, whose watery stare held more disquiet. Only Albus Dumbledore was still looking at him, and so Harry met his steady gaze, and emphasised as he felt the familiar ire he'd used with his captors, "Well he did. It was one of the few things that kept me going. He saved my life, and my sanity, and you're all acting like he's Voldemort himself."

"A snake doesn't change his diamonds overnight," Ron was the person who voiced his opinion first.

It didn't surprise Harry, but it did disappoint him, and his emotion came out in a glare which he turned on his best friend. The red-head's stare was equally hostile, and drew up more of Harry's anger and he spat, "No, it took five years of hell."

"Calm yourself, Harry," Albus stepped in serenely, gliding round McGonagall, and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Your experience of Mr Malfoy has been very different from the information we have received about him -,"

"- which is about as accurate as the stuff Propaganda Persius has been spouting about me," Harry growled back, his defensiveness making him shake.

Albus squeezed his shoulder and carried on calmly, "- which, indeed, we do not believe is wholly accurate, but you must give us a chance to verify Draco's and your version of events."

The young man looked up at the even, logical gaze, and his anger came back down to manageable proportions. He sagged again as Dumbledore let him go, and glanced surreptitiously at Ron. His comrade's face was dark, but it wasn't aimed at Harry, instead his gaze was focused in the middle distance and it was obvious what kind of thoughts were running through the Weasley's brain. The Malfoys and the Weasleys, enemies to the last, always on the opposite sides of the battle, and Harry knew who the hardest person to convince was going to be. The young man didn't like the mess that his two opposing bonds were making of his loyalties, as the new and old relationships clashed, but he wasn't prepared to deny Draco, and his protectiveness of his absent lover stopped him from trying to mend the gap which had suddenly appeared between him and his best friend.

"So, Harry," Tonks became the unsubtle diverter of the conversation as she began brightly, "Remus has been keeping us up to date, but he forgets the details, so what was it like flying for the Boston Broomsticks?"

From the crooked smile that Remus gave Tonks, Harry didn't think he'd forgotten any details, but Harry went with the flow, glad for the break in the tension, and he answered, "You know me, any chance to fly is a good one."

The room laughed, all except Harry and Ron, they shared a look which ignored the difference of opinion, but couldn't eradicate it altogether. Then the shadow left Ron's eyes and he joined in, "You still got that Firebolt?"

"Well, it's getting on a bit now," the wizard returned, letting the last of his ire go with the easy conversation, "I keep it serviced, had to have a whole new set of tail twigs last Autumn. I bought a new one a couple of years ago, though, and I keep the Firebolt for occasional flights."

"Let me guess," Ron looked to heavens as though calculating something, "the best broom two years ago was the Windstorm."

Harry grinned and nodded. The Potter fortune was not huge, and he tended to live on his Auror salary, but he had dipped into it and gone for the best with his broom. Professional Quidditch might have beckoned if Voldemort had never affected his choices, and he still enjoyed the amateur game.

"I got to see a few of Harry's games when I was out there," Remus added, "and he's still quite good."

"I persuaded Fudge it would be good for publicity," the young man puffed at the memory of his minor success. "It was about the only thing they'd let me off the compound for without this huge panic."

"Compound, is that what you called it?" Hermione asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but the weight of the war was behind her eyes.

"The only bit of free British Territory left," Harry explained, and wrinkled his nose at the uncomfortable feeling it gave him as he admitted, "Well supposedly free, but just like Britain, it's well shielded, no apparating in, or out."

The atmosphere was dropping again, but this time, no-one seemed to want to back off, in fact, Remus encouraged the conversation as he continued, "Harry had to surrender his wand if he left the compound."

Harry received looks of camaraderie and outrage from his companions, all except Dumbledore, whose face said he already knew the facts, and Ron expressed everyone's feelings as he exclaimed, "Damn cheek!"

Harry sniggered, unwilling to let the petty dealings of the Ministry bureaucrats bring him down, and recollected, "There was panic if I ducked out of sight even on base. There'd be agents running all over the place like headless diricawls."

"And you didn't do that deliberately at all, did you?" Minerva's eyebrow raise belied the twitch of her lips and the glint in her eye; she loathed the Ministry as much as Harry after the incident with Umbridge and the stunners.

The young man gave her his best "I-didn't-do-it, it-wasn't-me, Professor" face and shook his head solemnly. This received a slap of solidarity from Ron, and then his friend obviously found the allusion of the Ministry's tame Aurors disappearing and reappearing in a flutter of feathers funny. He did his best impression of a bird, making a face, flapping his arms and squawking, and then made a little explosive sound, which Harry could only guess was meant to be the feather burst of a diricawl. Harry laughed, which just egged the man on, and he started adding in panic stricken glances left and right in between the explosions. As others joined in the chuckling, the young man's laugh grew deeper relieving the tension that had been growing since Moody's plain-speaking. However, the patient ran up against the wall of his own exhaustion again, and more bright spots popped up in front of his eyes like wand sparks. He stopped giggling in an unsteady little groan and grabbed the bed as the room shifted around him. Almost instantly the play stopped and Ron's hands were on his shoulders.

"You alright, Harry?"

Harry nodded, but closed his eyes in consternation as the world refused to steady itself.

"Are you upsetting my patient again, Mr Weasley?" Madame Pomfrey intoned from the door, her timing almost psychic.

"No," her charge defended, but without much enthusiasm.

"Try being honest with me, Mr Potter," the nurse scolded lightly, coming into the room, "and your visitors may get to stay longer next time."

Harry scowled at her petulantly, but she ignored it, crossing to him and taking his pulse as everyone took the hint and started saying their goodbyes.

"Seeya, Harry," Tonks waved and headed for the door.

"Be good, Harry," Remus grinned and winked at him, "we want to be able to come back."

The Auror felt very much like a school boy again as Minerva and Albus stood together, smiled wisely at him and Hogwart's last headmaster advised, "Rest well, Harry, and we may talk some more tomorrow."

It then struck the young man that he hadn't gained very much information from the conversation at all; he didn't even know where he was. However, McGonagall's goodbye slipped past him as he realised this and then both of his mentors had turned away before he could raise the point.

"Bye, Mate," Ron didn't give him any time to ask more questions either, as he slid off the bed, but Hermione saw his frustration. The young woman smiled sympathetically and assured, "Get well soon, Harry, we want you back with us properly."

Hermione finished with a little shrug and stood up. The patient admitted defeat, and gave up any questions that had begun to pile up in his brain, sinking back into the pillows. He was surprisingly tired, and didn't really realise it as he closed his eyes. He thought he heard Poppy address him, but it sounded a long way away, and then it didn't matter anymore.


	13. Tests...

Harry hadn't known that a cookery magazine could be quite so absorbing, but even so, he yawned and the writing blurred despite his glasses being on his nose. The young man had woken from his afternoon nap as his stomach told him it was supper time. He'd managed to sit himself up, and had begun to observe the comings and goings outside the observation window. He could kind of see the ward outside, but the window was high, and he only got glimpses of shoulders and heads. He'd stretched to see more and nearly fallen out of bed, and then Pomfrey had come in and scolded him for exerting himself. She had however brought food, and he'd cleared his plate. Admittedly, a bowl of soup and a slice of bread could hardly be considered a large meal, but the healer had been impressed with his appetite and the improvement in his strength, so he had risked asking for something to read. He'd whined and cajoled and pleaded until the woman had provided him with what she hoped would bore him stupid. However, Harry had missed his eyesight, and he'd put his new glasses to work with enthusiasm on 'Cauldron Cooking For Beginners'.

The young man decided that Poppy Pomfrey had to be psychic, because she walked in just in time to catch his display of weariness.

"Time for bed, Harry," the woman announced, pushing a trolley up beside him.

Harry glanced down at his blanket-covered legs, but resisted the urge to point out that he was already in bed: he'd learnt that sarcasm wasn't high on his healer's popularity list, so instead he looked up at her non-comittally and put down his magazine. The witch whisked the glossy pages away before Harry had time to complain, tucking them under her arm and picking up a beaker from her trolley and handing it too him. The young man looked at it dubiously: he knew a potion when he smelt one.

"It's for a dreamless sleep," Poppy told him. "I want you to have a solid night's rest tonight."

Harry wasn't sure he needed a potion to make him sleep like the dead: his first waking day out of Hogwarts had given his limbs the leaden feel like he'd been chasing the snitch for too long, and despite dozing half of it away, he was more than ready for lights out. However, the way his nurse was looking at him, he didn't feel like arguing, she had the _I-know-what's-best_ look, and she was stood watching him with her hands folded in front her. Holding his breath against the smell, the patient gulped down the half-cup of fluid and was surprised when it tasted faintly of raspberries. Poppy smiled as he handed her back the beaker, and responded, "Thank you, Harry. I will see you in the morning."

The healing man, pulled off his glasses and lay down as his pillows were rearranged, and he let the tiredness mix with the potion and take him swiftly into unthinking blackness.

* * *

Had he been asleep? Harry woke up with Madam Pomfrey in exactly the same position as she had been when he'd drifted off, only this time, her hand was on his shoulder, and her voice brought him gently from slumber. He couldn't help it, as soon as the blackness lifted, his muscles twinged and he stretched; the feeling was bliss and he smiled up at his carer as the tingly relief ran out to the tips of his toes.

"Good morning, Harry," Poppy greeted, "You slept well?"

"Mmm," the young man answered, and then remembered his manners, "Thank you."

"How are you feeling?"

Instead of answering, Harry decided to experiment with what he thought might be new strength in his body, and slowly, he sat up. He was satisfied with the result: it wasn't quite the struggle it had been the previous evening, and his smile broadened. The healer stood back, hands on her hips, and her patient wasn't sure if she was angry with him. He dropped the grin as her professional eyes surveyed him, but he was relieved when she spoke again. "Well done, Mr Potter, but please don't over extend your energies when I'm not here."

'Mr Potter', she always called him that when she wasn't entirely happy, but the praise made up for the warning. Harry risked his smile again, he was feeling so much stronger than when he had fallen asleep, and he decided that his healer really did know best, so he nodded sincerely at her request. The formidable woman smiled back at him, and then began plumping up the pillows behind him. Harry leant forward to make her task easier and rubbed his neck as the movement found more unused muscles. He left his fingers there, playing absently with the leather, trying to find the way to remove the collar; it wasn't really a conscious thought anymore, he'd given up fighting with the magic that sealed the bondage a few days after it had been forced around his throat, but, even so, it brought a frown to his face as in the back of his mind, he failed again.

Harry only slowly realised that his actions were affecting anyone but him, as he became aware that Poppy had finished her rearranging and was now stood away watching him brood. He sat back into the pillows, dropping his hand immediately as he noticed the look of discomfort on his companion's face. It wasn't the look of the professional that touched her normally calm features, it was one of sorrow, an expression which came unbidden. As he regarded her, Pomfrey's manner returned to that of the healer, but she didn't back away from incident, instead she addressed it directly, and told him, "We tried to remove that, but it is a more complicated spell than most bindings. We're still working on it."

Harry didn't hide the angst that he felt at knowing that they'd already tried and failed to remove the collar.

"They called me 'Pup'," came out of his mouth before he realised he had said it, and shame ran through him at the memories which came with the admission.

Horror, that's the only way he could describe what he saw in Poppy's eyes, and the young man looked away from his healer, humiliated a second time by the inhumanity of the Death Eaters. He dragged in a ragged breath and covered, "Sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry."

Pomfrey's voice was made powerful by the disgust in her tone, but compassion came through over and above anything else as she sat down on the edge of the bed and took her patient's hand. It was the gentleness in the woman that drew Harry back to her and she told him, "You never need apologise for those beasts, or how they make you feel. If you need to talk, I am always here, and whatever you say will remain between us."

Harry opened his mouth, but he knew nothing was going to come out. He'd kept his degradation behind shields for so long that it wasn't going to be that easy to express the turmoil behind them, in fact, his instinct told him that it would be dangerous to do so; dangerous for whom he couldn't answer. He managed a strangled, "Not yet."

The healer's face showed concern at his refusal, but she didn't push him, instead she found a sad little smile and patted his hand.

"Alright. Now," she stood back up brightly and offered, "breakfast?"

The patient's stomach grumbled unrepentantly, and he used it to push aside the left-over feelings. He couldn't reach his voice again, but he nodded, and Poppy barrelled on enthusiastically in to the new day.

* * *

A firm rap on the door brought Harry's nose out of 'Quidditch for Beginners'; Poppy had been more enthusiastic about providing reading material, since her patient had devoured breakfast and been an absolute angel in obeying all her instructions, but the supply of books she had on hand were limited, and he had been hoping for a visitor to give him something else to do. His look was therefore expectant as he called, "Come in."

Of all the people Harry had thought he might see that morning, Amelia Bones was not one of them. The Auror hadn't seen the witch personally since his hearing for use of underage magic, but she was an infamous name among all in exile, since she had refused to run with the rest of the Ministry. There had been rumours that the broad, monocled woman was linked to the underground in Britain, but confirmation as usual, had been sorely lacking in the current bureaucracy that called itself the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Any Auror worth his training still considered Madam Bones the Head of Department, an unspoken assumption being that she would be back in the place being kept warm by the deputy, whose name no-one could remember, as soon as the war was over.

"Ma'am," Harry's training and respect came out in his greeting, and he sat a little straighter as his boss closed the door.

"Good Morning, Auror Potter," the impressive woman returned, filling the corner of the room. "I trust you are on the mend."

"Yes, thank you, Ma'am," the young man answered, feeling a little like he was on parade.

"A commendable sacrifice you made for your country."

Harry frowned, and, for the umpteenth time since gaining freedom, found his mouth working before his brain had caught up with the implications of what he was saying. "With respect, Ma'am, I didn't do it for my country, I did it for the thousands of lives in Azkaban."

The young man held his breath as he realised to whom he was speaking his mind, but he refused to back down from the statement, and he met Amelia's gaze. The woman's eyes flashed, he wasn't sure what with until a smile came to her lips, and she observed in a much less authoritarian tone, "Good answer, Harry, may I call you Harry?"

Harry nodded, somewhat confused by the sudden change in signals he was receiving from his visitor. He didn't like the feeling that he'd just been tested, even though he got the impression that he'd passed, and Moody's warning of resentment came to mind. He buried that emotion below polite interest, and just waited as he sensed that Amelia wasn't finished. Sure enough, "And please call me, Amelia. May I sit?"

She waved at the chair Dumbledore had left, and her host replied cordially, "Certainly, Amelia."

The woman sat down and proved that one of the qualities which had placed her at the top of her profession was her perception as she began again directly, "I apologise if my technique offended you, Harry, but I had to gauge for myself whether your friends' and associates' reports of your character are accurate. And I have to say that so far, I would concur."

Harry didn't know whether to be pleased or concerned; he had a wide-enough range of acquaintances for opinions to be good and bad, and he didn't doubt Amelia had spoken to everyone she could. He didn't have a reply to such a statement, and so he just shrugged and leant back into the mountain of pillows he now had shaped very comfortably. Amelia seemed to tick something off in her brain, and ploughed on, "I can see that I don't have to mince words with you, Harry, so I'm just going to say what I have to say. You were assisted in your escape from Hogwarts by members of The Order of the Phoenix." Harry kept a totally straight face, the order wasn't exactly secret, but its members and activities were not common knowledge, so he was not about to reveal anything. Amelia smiled again and her eyes narrowed at his lack of reaction, but she pressed on, "However, they then brought you here, which is a base used by both the Order and the Resistance, thus you fall under both our jurisdictions. Your friends, although prudent people, are still your friends, and could be considered to be biased, thus, although they will have input into any decision made about you and Mr Malfoy, they have agreed to allow the Resistance to have the final say."

The young man suddenly felt like a prisoner again, but he met the alarm his associate's words inspired with a logical perspective which surprised him.

"What decisions do you have to make?" he asked as calmly as he could manage.

"Your position is fairly secure, Harry," Amelia immediately responded, sitting forward, her hands clasped confidently together, "you are an Auror, and probably the ultimate opposition to Voldemort, if Professor Dumbledore is to be believed." For a second, Harry wondered if the old man had disclosed the details of the Prophecy, but his companion's next sentence headed off his sense of betrayal. "He is most convincing when he speaks of your total rejection of all that the Dark Lord stands for. Our decisions about you are merely to ascertain if you are fit for active duty."

"Fit in body and mind," Harry interrupted, letting his hackles rise a little, but Amelia was not the least perturbed by the edge to his voice.

"Precisely so."

She paused, regarding her subordinate with all-seeing eyes. The young man did not try to hide the disquiet that the consideration of his mental state gave him, and he decided to be honest as he said, "I'd like to find that out as well."

That did gain a raised eyebrow from Amelia, but then Harry wondered if he'd passed another exam, because the same smile came onto her lips.

"I like you, Harry," she told him, "you have a formidable spirit and an honesty that I can appreciate."

"Then lets put all the cards on the table," the young man was in no mood for niceties, "I can tell you that you will have a problem with me, if you have a problem with Draco." Harry steeled himself as the woman's face went through surprise to a serious frown. He pressed on despite the frosty reception, "he saved my life, and I am grateful, but he is also my friend. I owe him a lot more than just being in one piece. I will not betray him."

Bones regarded him again for a moment, and Harry let her see his resolve. He found his feelings startlingly similar to the cornered captive, and he realised that even in his new grey world, some things had to remain black and white. He would not reveal the extent of his feelings for Draco, but the consequences of them had to be clear to these people. Amelia did not seem happy, her smile did not return this time, but comprehension did surface in her steady gaze.

"You are truly a Gryffindor, Harry," she observed, and her subject wasn't sure if she was praising or condemning him. "Your friends come above everything else, don't they."

"Yes."

"So tell me this, are you willing to cooperate with us and abide by our rules until our decision is made."

Harry paused before he replied -- this would be a promise, his word on obedience to people who could harm his lover. The Resistance was an unknown quantity, but Amelia Bones was not, and the young man knew that her reputation for fairness was well earned. What would be the alternative to cooperation? He'd spend the next however long in a cell. What would cooperation bring? Maybe a chance to be with Draco. Harry drew in breath as he chose whether to trust while not being trusted, and then answered, "Yes."

Amelia nodded, she had formed her impression of her subject, and his considered response made an impact. Harry knew his word had been accepted.

"Then my previous statements remain the same."

The patient relaxed a little then, this grey was whiter than it was black, at least for now. Amelia's confident smile returned as Harry sunk back further, and she disclosed, "I think I should tell you that Draco said some very similar things about you."

Harry's heart swelled at that information, and he looked away with a secret smile as he thought of his lover. He didn't care that his companion's eyes were still focused very closely on him, she could assess all she liked -- Draco cared, beyond anything else, he cared.

"What is your opinion of him so far?" the young man asked impulsively, and glanced back up at his visitor. Amelia gave nothing away, just that same easy smile, and she answered, "To discuss that would not be proper of me."

Harry was disappointed, but her reply was not unexpected. He shrugged. The woman pressed on, "Harry, I am here to discuss your position, not Draco's." He nodded. "Your physical well-being is in the very capable hands of Madam Pomfrey, and she had provided me with a brief report which says that you will make a complete recovery. However, Madam Pomfrey is not an expert on the mind, and you have already admitted that this is a concern to you." She looked for an affirmative, Harry nodded again. "I have within my team, a healer who specialises in the mind, more specifically trauma, magical or otherwise and its effects on mental stability. I would like you to talk to him."

The young man frowned, somewhat nervous at the thought of baring all to a stranger. He was a private person, he'd kept his feelings about the prophecy to himself for seven years.

"Hippus will produce a report based on your discussion, but the content of those conversations would not be made public, they would be between you and him, Healer/Patient confidentiality. Any facts of the events in Hogwarts that we require to make our decisions will be asked of you directly," Amelia cajoled.

Harry was still frowning. He'd never dealt with a head doctor, magical or muggle, and it made him uncomfortable. However, he concluded, "I don't have much choice, do I?"

* * *

Harry hoped that lunch wasn't always going to be such a fight as these last two had been. His stomach was doing somersaults again, every time he thought about the meetings with Amelia's people to which he had agreed. The ones where they were going to require statements from him were not what bothered him, he could deal with facts, or so he hoped. It was the meetings with his new healer, that were due to start that afternoon that had him worried. Pomfrey's immediate objection when she had been told had not helped her patient's spirits, and the argument which had been taken out into the corridor had resulted in a thin-lipped, anxious nurse returning a few minutes later, and the news that the meeting was still on. The young man himself tried to hide his trepidation from the already uptight healer, but she saw right through his silence. She'd tried to bolster his emotions then, but he was too absorbed with his own thoughts to communicate much, and so she had eventually just left him with his lunch.

His stomach flipped again, as Harry thought about having to bare his soul to a stranger. He wasn't good at doing it with those he trusted, he'd grown up keeping things to himself in the Dursley household, and sharing his emotions was something he'd learnt to do. This man, Hippus, was a whole new Quidditch pitch. What was more, Harry was concerned about what he might find. The young man knew he was being more aggressive with everyone and everything than before his incarceration, and his conversational skill was almost non-existent. And his anxiety: well, Harry only needed to experience the nausea when he looked at the normally appetising fish pie to realise that this aspect of his character had elevated. Maybe it was all natural, all just stress, or maybe there was more to come out. With a worried little frown, Harry stared at the mashed potato he was prodding.

The patient realised how wound up he was when suddenly the door burst in. His fork went flying, and his heart leapt into his throat as a figure came crashing through the opening. He was breathing hard, his pulse racing and his body taut as the newcomer careered into the end of the bed and something scattered over the covers.

"Bugger!"

Harry's recognition kicked in at the very unfeminine expression that came from the female mouth, and he laughed, more in relief than the untidy pile that Tonks had become at the end of his bed. He shivered as his tension broke and he was still giggling as Remus and Poppy came in after their disaster-prone comrade. Madame Pomfrey was scowling, and Harry knew she'd seen at least the aftermath of his reaction, but Lupin chose to join in the laughter at Tonks' expense.

"You alright, Tonks?" the blond man sniggered as the woman stood up, huffing.

Tonks had blue hair today, and underneath the mop of fringe, she was smiling, and shrugged.

"Sorry Harry, tripped over my own feet -- again," came the resigned explanation. "These are for you."

The woman waved her hand and Harry looked down at the chaos that now covered his feet. There were a couple of still-wrapped parcels, and some fruit, and then what had made the most mess, a box of Honeyduke's chocolates had burst open and scattered over the blanket. By this time, the patient had recovered himself enough to answer, "Thank you."

"They're from everyone," Tonks carried on, as she started to gather up the appetising-looking selection of sweets. "We all wanted to come in, but you're being rationed," she chucked a chocolate in his direction, and Harry caught it gratefully -- proper food wouldn't stay down, chocolate was another matter. "Something to do with a meeting with those worriers from the Resistance."

The young man made a face and admitted, "I have to see a shrink."

Remus and Poppy both looked blank, but Tonks revealed her father's heritage as something sparked in her brain and she returned, "Dad used to use that word," and then her eyes opened wider and she breathed indignantly, "they're making you see a head healer?"

Harry nodded. Pomfrey went back to being thin-lipped, Remus didn't seem surprised, and Harry considered that he'd probably been in the meeting which had made the decisions about him. Feeling better with the camaraderie from Tonks, he bit down on the chocolate and sank back into his pillows.

"They're all weirder than their patients," the woman observed, and she screwed up her face in the way that told everyone she was messing with her appearance.

Harry laughed again as her forehead bulged out from her face and her eyes sunk back, bead-like into their sockets. Poppy tutted and folded her arms, and her patient stifled his chortle with his hand. Remus had a gentle smile playing across his features, but he was also clearly aware of the healer's disquiet, so he shook his head surreptitiously at his colleague. Tonks swiftly returned her face to its usual shape, and had the decency to look abashed as she smiled at Madame Pomfrey. The older woman drew in a swift breath and then left.

As soon as the door was closed, Harry let out the rest of his laugh and warned, "Don't annoy her too much, please, she had a stand-up row with Bones about this shrink. I think she's more worried than I am."

Tonks took his admission in her stride, throwing herself down on the edge of the bed with her re-sorted gifts, but Lupin frowned.

"Are you really worried?" the man asked seriously.

Their female companion finally caught up with the new edge in the room as she dumped the pile of presents into Harry's lap. He gave her a weak smile, but her brow furrowed and she patted his leg.

"I suppose I shouldn't be so bothered about it," he tried to dismiss some of his feelings with a shrug and the same bland smile, but he couldn't deny the angst in his belly, and he continued, "but I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it. I don't know if I ever will be."

Lupin finally came forward, and his face was clouded as he sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the bed to his comrade. Harry hadn't got any more to say, and Tonks seemed to be waiting for the pensive look on her friend's face to come to fruition. Eventually, she was rewarded, as the fair man disclosed, "I saw one a few years ago, when things were getting bad with the Ministry legislation, and I can promise you that if he is worth his salt, this _shrink_ will not force you in to anything."

Harry ignored Tonks' gasp and open-mouthed expression of surprise and regarded his friend gratefully. He could see the pain behind that admission; the werewolf's life had not been easy, given all the barriers that the Ministry had thrown up in front of him, and as he looked at Lupin, Harry remembered that he was not the only one who had lost some of his closest friends. James, Lilly, Sirius were all gone, and Peter was working for the other side: it had to have been hard on the already beleaguered man. And, yet, Remus was still going, calm, reasonable, another rock in Harry's life, and he borrowed strength from that knowledge.

[At least I still have Ron and Hermione,] the young man reminded himself, and he nodded more confidently at his companion, "Thank you."

Lupin smiled.

Mouth running before brain was something Harry was getting used to, and he did nothing to stem the tide of emotion which caught him as he considered the same face broken by concern.

"You were the last thing I saw before the port key did its job," Harry spoke with gratitude as he thought about one of the memories of his friend which had kept him going during the long hours of incarceration.

Lupin's smiled disappeared into a frown and for a second, Harry wondered if he had misjudged badly. Yet it was not too deep a frown, and Remus seemed to catch himself halfway through making it. Tonks turned and looked at Remus in time to catch the disquiet, and she voiced what neither man was saying.

"He should have been the last thing Fudge saw before he made his own deliveries," she huffed.

"I told him if I survived I'd ruin his career," Harry decided to be blunt and received an approving grin from Tonks; Remus was, from what Harry could tell, still stuck between emotions.

"So you weren't the only one then, Remus. Apart from the whole surviving thing," Tonks elbowed Lupin and winked at Harry and then added conspiratorially, "If Severus hadn't stopped him, I think our mild mannered werewolf here would have ripped Fudge's head off."

Remus didn't look comfortable with that revelation, even if Tonks was grinning proudly from ear to ear.

"Thank you," Harry offered sincerely. "How did you know, I wasn't allowed to tell anyone."

Remus looked sheepish for a moment longer, but then clearly thought better of his normal reservations and frowned hard as he explained, "Severus waited for you to leave your room and then read your orders. He came and found me."

"Severus?" Harry couldn't quite believe that Snape had instigated the objections.

"Surprised me too," Tonks shrugged and then added, "I think he just wanted to come back with Remus."

"Tonks!" Remus scolded, and the woman just grinned impishly.

* * *

Gerald Hippus was a tall, thin man whose clothing suggested that he had dressed while thinking about something else that morning. Mismatched would have been putting his choice of attire mildly, but he seemed completely comfortable with his odd appearance, even adjusting his luridly green tie as he sat down. Harry just watched him for a moment, uncomfortable despite Remus' assurance; nothing would have removed his sense of vulnerability entirely, but he felt more able to face this meeting knowing he wasn't the only one who had been through it. His visitor's smile held shadows of condescension, and Harry gritted his teeth as he was treated to the vaguely superior pep talk. "Now, Harry, there is no need to feel uneasy about my presence. I am neither judge, nor jury, you should think of me as just someone with whom to share."

[Share what, chocolate frogs?] the young man thought acidly, his hackles already rising over the sickly understanding tone of the quite clearly uncomprehending man. However, he sat on any outward sign of the negativity he was feeling, and smiled thinly at his guest.

"Alright then," Gerald continued in his soft lilt, and pulled a bag onto his knee, "I am going to introduce you to some of the items we may find useful during our time together."

Harry's pleasant grimace fixed in place as he saw the long haul stretch out in front of him. Hippus reached his bony hand into his bag and pulled out what looked like an ordinary quill and notepad, however, then he reached up to his right and left the items suspended in mid air. The quill began scratching on the paper as its owner began talking again, "This is my pad and pen, obviously," the healer smiled weakly again, "it will record everything we say to each other from now on. Please don't be intimidated, just forget it is there. Any notes that are taken are, of course, completely confidential, although I will refer to them in general terms to compile my report."

Harry wondered if the rustling was meant to be so loud, but he didn't say anything, he waited. A second dip into the small briefcase revealed something that any wizard would have recognised as magical. To a muggle, it would have been a rock, to a wizard, it was clearly a focus stone of some kind, and it began to glow faintly in the hand of its owner.

"This is my own work," Gerald straightened his shoulders proudly as he held up the item to his patient's inspection. "I finished it only last week. I have been using focus stones with my patients to bring out their memories for years, but this one is more unusual. I have tuned it to my thoughts first, so that I may understand your thoughts a little more clearly."

Harry's smile cracked and he knew his expression showed all the concern that Hippus' admission gave him. He'd had plenty of experience in viewing others memories using Dumbledore's pensieve, but this sounded very much more intimate. Just by the way the healer stroked the stone and its light pulsed in response made the patient wonder if that kind of closeness to thoughts was a good idea. Anxiously, he asked, "How would you understand my thoughts?"

Gerald seemed somewhat put out that his subject was not impressed with his creation, but the emotion tripped across his face momentarily and was replaced with the condescending smile.

"I think I may have revealed too much too soon, Harry, forgive my exuberance for my work. We will discuss this in more detail later," the man slipped the stone back into his bag and put it aside. He gesticulated fluidly at his patient and continued, "but first, I suggest that we talk, so that we can connect more easily."

Harry was still feeling dubious about the whole thing, and his eyes strayed down to the bag as his thoughts tripped over each other about how the stone was supposed to work.

"Harry," Gerald interrupted his worry, sliding the bag under his chair, while trying to make eye contact with his patient, "Please don't concern yourself, everything I practice is perfectly safe, memories cannot harm, I want you to remember that, they can only help us when we come to understand them more fully. Will you go with me on this one?"

The healer's tone had gained a depth that hadn't been there before, and Harry met his gaze; he saw the sincerity in the look, and knew that, whatever else, Hippus believed his words. He dragged his mind back from thoughts of the focus stone and chose to place a little trust in his carer's training. Slowly, he nodded. Gerald smiled, and for the first time, Harry didn't feel like he was being patronized.

"Now," the man's voice softened at the edges even further, and he leant back in his chair demonstratively and suggested, "Why don't you make yourself more comfortable, I want you to be as relaxed as possible while we talk."

The young man sunk back into the Harry-shaped indentation of his pillow mountain and waited. Gerald crossed his hands in his lap and began, "Harry, would you be comfortable telling me how you are feeling at this moment?"

Harry frowned, but decided to be honest as he admitted, "I don't like this sort of thing."

"You find it difficult to talk to people about your feelings?"

"Yes."

"That is perfectly normal, don't worry about it. My job is to make you more at ease with this kind of exchange."

The patient felt a little better with the assurance his healer was supplying, and he was beginning to wonder if his first impressions of Hippus had been wrong. The healer wasn't smiling anymore, but his face held a serene enigma of an expression, and Harry instinctively trusted it.

"I've never done anything like this before. I normally just get on with things," Harry shrugged, sensing a temptation in the back of his mind to let everything out to this stranger; he resisted the urge, he wasn't that naïve.

"And how do you do that?"

"Just do, ever since I was little," the young man returned, slightly confused by the question.

"Wasn't there anyone at home you talked to?" his companion asked, sounding genuinely interested.

Harry laughed, his tone bitter as he admitted, "Aunt Petunia would have ignored me, Uncle Vernon would have just told me to stop snivelling and hit me, and Dudley: he'd have just hit me."

"So you didn't get along with your relatives?" Hippus continued and revealed the level of information from which he was working.

Harry Potter was part of wizard folklore, The Boy Who Lived, brought up by muggle relatives, and that was as far as most people's knowledge went; his healer was one of those people, it seemed, where his past was concerned anyway. Harry hoped he was not going to have to take his interrogator too far down the path of enlightenment: it wasn't that he was embarrassed, or even bothered by his past, it was just that he hadn't spoken to the Dursleys since leaving school, and he had fully intended on leaving their unpleasantness as just part of his history, not to be thought of too deeply ever again. He shook his head in silent concurrence with his healer's observance. He was grateful when Hippus didn't push him any further, he just nodded his head contemplatively, and led on, "Can you identify the first time in your life that you were happy?"

That was easy, Harry didn't even have to think about it, and he beamed as he thought about it and disclosed, "When I found out I was a wizard and came to Hogwarts."

Gerald didn't quite hide his surprise at that admission, and it made his patient a little defensive. His smile fell away, and the young man challenged, "I mean it, if you don't count little moments that they always ruined. Everything they did was meant to put me down, make me less than them, and all because Petunia disapproved of my mother, her sister. I knew people could be small and petty and mean long before I met Voldemort."

"Is that how you see He Who Shall Not Be Named?" Hippus' eyebrows hit his hairline.

Harry laughed again, a nasty little sound which reminded him of his tormentor and he sneered, "He hates muggles, everything he is comes from hating his father. Underneath it all he's just Tom Riddle, a half-blood and he's taking out his psychosis on the world."

The young man didn't like the look that his companion gave him, but his derision of all that was Voldemort had to come out, and he barrelled on, "I used to be scared that I was like him, he left me with parts of him when I was a baby, y'know, that's why I'm a Parselmouth. It took me a long time to realise that I wasn't anything like him. Despite what others told me, I had to understand it myself. I don't think I really believed it until I saw what he did to this country, and then I knew any hatred I could have could never run so deep. The only reason he hasn't gone after the muggles yet is that he's not that stupid, he knows how many more there are of them compared with us, but give him time and he'll move on them too."

Gerald's expression was changing as his subject revealed more of the thoughts which he had been contemplating for many years; Harry could see his credibility increasing in his companion's eyes. However, he also saw the impact of what he was saying on the wizard, and his words ran out as he realised he was scaring Hippus. Not many people were looking to the future, there was enough to cope with in the present, and Harry became acutely aware that his foresight was not wanted. He looked away from the healer, feeling the loneliness he always experienced when people looked at him like Gerald was doing at that moment.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hippus surprised him with the sincere tone, and the man made sure his subject was looking at him again before he continued, "I just imposed my own emotions onto you. I'm not here to make assumptions. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made you uncomfortable."

Harry smiled sadly and told him, "I should be used to it by now."

"This happens regularly?"

"Ever since I started telling people that Voldemort was back," the young man shrugged, and then smirked humourlessly again and observed, "At least they don't think I'm unbalanced anymore: oh no, wait, maybe they do."

"Harry, I am not just here to write a report on you for the Resistance," Gerald came right back at the self-defeat in his patient's voice with the earnest disclosure. "I want to help you discover the extent to which the last month has affected your mental health, and we won't even have an idea if we don't communicate. I do not think you are unbalanced, I have no grounds for any kind of suspicion like that, and I will not make any kind of supposition which you do not know about. This is an open process; you and I will reach the same end point."

It was Harry's turn to show his surprise, and his healer seemed satisfied by his response. He had come forward in his chair, and slowly, the man sunk back again and crossed his hands passively in his lap.

"Do we understand each other?" he asked, soft edges returning to his voice.

Harry wasn't sure that he believed all that Gerald had said, but he was sure that Gerald believed it, and it made him feel a little foolish, while also inspiring a little more trust. Silently, he nodded.

* * *

Harry hadn't talked so much since the long nights he and Ron used to spend at the beginning of the war reminiscing about the good ol' days at school. His throat was beginning to dry out, but he kept on talking, surprising himself as Hippus' questions drew more out of him than he thought he had been prepared to give. The young man knew his healer was making this session as easy as possible; they had stuck to background information, school, the Dursleys, even Quidditch, which was mystifying Gerald. Harry had been rather shocked to realise that not everyone in the wizarding world thought Quidditch was important, but his companion was revealing just how cerebral he was with his complete incomprehension of even the basic rules.

"...no, the bludger is the type of ball you have to avoid, the quaffle is the one for scoring goals," Harry explained _again_, with a tolerant smile on his lips.

"And the snitch is the one that you have to catch," Gerald nodded to himself, obviously placing the information carefully away into some compartment in his brain as he frowned contemplatively. Then his patient saw the change in his expression, from purely conversational to professional, and he knew a question was coming. "What attracts you to the game?"

"There are so many things," Harry breathed excitedly, "the speed, the freedom of being up in the air -- only my skill between me and the ground. Working in the team, but also, as a seeker, I have an individual challenge. The snitch isn't the be-all and end-all of the game, but it can be decisive. When I'm flying after that tiny ball of gold, I couldn't give a damn about anything else, it's a fantastic feeling."

The young man coughed as his words came faster than his healing body could cope with, and he relaxed immediately away from his intensity, knowing the warning signs by now. Gerald frowned at him, but Harry grinned, and just entrenched himself back in the pillows from where he had been leaning forward. The analyst checked his watch, and as if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Hippus looked up at his patient and Harry smiled, he was in a fairly good mood and observed dryly, "I think she's psychic," and then called more loudly, "Come in."

True to form, there was Poppy Pomfrey, efficient and protective as her eyes ran a quick inspection over her patient and then she scowled at the interloper.

"Pardon my interruption," she began, halting at the door, her hand still on the door knob, and her tone suggesting she required no such reprieve, "but it is time for tea and Harry should not miss any meals at the moment."

"Of course," Hippus took the hint, smiled at his adversary, and reached for his quill and pad. As he packed the objects away in his bag he continued, "Thank you for your time, Harry. I think we have made a promising start."

The young man thought so too, but he didn't voice his opinion, he just smiled as his companion looked up at him; he didn't know if all this talk was going to do any good in the long term, but he felt a little lighter having been able to vent some of his emotions, good and bad. He watched as Gerald rose from his seat, unfolding to his full, spindly height and turned to the door. The man nodded cordially to his associate, and the woman ruffled to her full height as well, however she was dwarfed by the other healer. Yet, as he watched the non-verbal demonstration of authority from Poppy, Harry got the feeling that the non-confrontational approach which Gerald had chosen was by far the safest option, however tall he was.

The man stopped in the doorway, filling it vertically if not horizontally, and finished, "Goodbye, Harry, I hope you won't mind if I arrange another appointment with Madame Pomfrey?"

"Bye, Gerald, and go ahead," the patient responded.

Pomfrey's frown deepened as her sharp eyes followed Hippus out, and she was still clearly in a bad mood as she dragged a trolley from the corridor into the space where he had been.

"He's not a bad chap," Harry felt the need to defend the now absent analyst, and realised he should learn to keep his mouth shut as the scowl came to rest on him.

"He's a meddler," Poppy provided her opinion while manoeuvring the tea tray like a battering ram. "These new fields pop up, no magical basis for them, and waste our time. When I trained, there were none of these fancy head-healers, you were just taught to listen."

As the healer dished out tea like she was trying to destroy the cup, her patient decided to keep quiet and let the moment pass.  



	14. ...Talk...

Harry woke early the next morning: he'd been tired from all the meetings the previous day, and Pomfrey had suggested an early night, helped on by the dreamless sleep potion. Hence, he had drifted into a new day before the lights in the windowless ward had been turned back up from their night time glow. He'd lain still a while, staring at the ceiling as he let the deep sleep lift more fully, but now his brain had begun to work, and he could also feel more strength in his limbs. The young man mulled over the previous day; he had certainly had a broad range of visitors, but he realised that the information had been flowing only one way, from him, and he still didn't even really know where he was. That thought irked him and also brought out a sense of captivity: this was certainly a more pleasant cell than the one in which he had spent the last month, but it was still a limited world in which his weakness kept him trapped as surely as any key.

The helplessness didn't sit well with the patient for long, and he decided to do as much as he could to alleviate it. In the short term, that meant one thing: moving. Resolutely, Harry stuck his elbows into the mattress and pushed himself up. Getting into a sitting position was the easy part, but still the young man was gratified that he completed the move without puffing: he was indeed getting stronger. It was also less of an effort to hold himself upright, and Harry took heart from his improvements. However that didn't stop his pulse from racing as he considered his next action. The young man felt a little foolish; it wasn't as if getting out of bed was an unusual event, but this time, he had to admit, felt different. This time was to prove to himself that he wasn't powerless, and the idea of failure made him nervous. He took a deep breath.

[Stop being such a baby, Potter,] he chided himself, and swept the blankets off his legs. The cooler air of the room played around his ankles, but Pomfrey-issue pyjamas kept it off the rest of his body, and Harry sat still for a moment, adjusting to the lack of the covers' weight on his lower limbs. He was stalling, he knew he was stalling, and angry with himself, the patient wriggled his way round in his seat and dropped his feet off the side of the bed.

He sat still again, this time because his haste caught his breath in his throat. Okay, so he still had to be careful: whatever fixes Pomfrey had undertaken to settle the previous work his healers had done, the deep-down changes was more radical than the mostly unmarked surface of his body gave Poppy credit for, but he was not going to let that stop him. Harry glanced across at the chair a metre or so away and mentally made it his goal. Gently, he slid forward and placed his feet on the floor. He smiled, and let out a long breath through his teeth as the soles of his feet met the chill linoleum. The bed was quite high, and so he was left half-sitting, half-leaning his arse against the mattress, and he basked in the minor triumph for a while, getting used to the semi-vertical position. His legs were wobbling, even with his weight distributed, but it felt more like lack of use than lack of strength, and the young man let the twinges run up and down his muscles, actually enjoying the sensation for its proof that he was doing something.

It was time: Harry steeled himself for the moment, put his hands on the edge of the bed and eased himself away from the support. His knees complained, his thigh muscles cramped, but the young man just gritted his teeth in satisfaction as his legs held him. Carefully, he let go of the bed and maintained his position under his own balance. It felt very strange, just fighting to stay upright, but never-the-less, Harry's chest swelled with his sense of achievement.

That was where the success ended. One moment he was standing solidly, the next a wave of disorientation ran through him. The young man shook as stars popped in front of his eyes and nausea welled up from his stomach. Harry swore as he felt one knee buckle, followed swiftly by the other, and then he choked on his words as his sickness took him down. He landed in a shivering heap, coughing against the acrid juices which burnt his throat, and wondering where his strength had gone. His spirit sagged at the set-back, scared and smarting, and he huddled over himself, against the cold that ran through his bones.

Yet, Harry Potter wasn't finished, and in the icy still the young man recognised the rise of an indignant anger inside himself. It came out of his hatred of his situation and Harry growled. He choked some more as the sound aggravated the effect of the stomach acid on his throat, but he still grabbed on to the ire as better than giving in. So, he was on the floor.

[Big deal.]

The weakened man jeered at himself, the image of how pathetic he must look hovering in his mind's eye. He had got himself into this situation, and now he had to get himself back out of it. Forcing the nausea to settle, he shifted position, and looked first at the chair and then at the bed. The chair was lower, easier to use as a support, but it was out of reach and Harry didn't fancy crawling around on the now uncomfortably cold tiles. The edge of the mattress was nearer, but Harry knew it would require more effort to pull himself up and back on to it.

[You've faced a lot worse, Potter,] Harry thought and gritted his teeth again. His hand trembling, the young man stretched up and across to the bed that he had left such a short time ago. His labours got no further.

The light came up as the patient heard his door open; the intrusion flicked a switch in his brain, and his vulnerability hit him, Harry scrabbled for the mattress. Suddenly he was back in his cell in Gryffindor Tower, and he knew that his gaolers would take advantage of his weakness. He had to find a defensive position. Yet, his panicked hands refused to hold on to the cloth with any strength, and he let go as a shadow fell across him. The prisoner put his hands up in protection of his head and shied away from the body which came close to him, angry and frightened by his helplessness.

"Harry," a caring male voice broke the flashback, and the patient froze, shivering uncontrollably, confused and gasping against the intensity of his emotions.

"Harry," his new companion repeated and his charge finally recognised Neville Longbottom as gentle hands were laid on his shoulders. Relief flooded him as the shades of the memory dissipated, and he reached desperately back to the arms which quickly came round his shoulders.

"Lets get you back to bed," the practical side of his old-school friend came through.

Neville revealed that there was more than enough strength in his stocky frame as he hauled his patient off the floor. Harry was a little help as he tried to put any strength he had left behind the directions his comrade supplied, but his co-ordination was non-existent. However, Healer Longbottom got his charge back onto the edge of the bed with well-practised efficiency, and they paused there, Neville getting his breath back and Harry trying to recover his wits. Embarrassed and grateful at the same time, Harry tried not to meet his companion's gaze, but Neville planted one arm protectively either side of his patient and ducked down under the dropped gaze. His round, open face was concerned, but reassuringly calm as he asked, "Are you alright?"

Harry didn't come back with an instant response, he felt foolish and vulnerable and weak and his immediate thought was to deny there was anything wrong, but denial just made him feel worse, so he decided to be honest and told his carer quietly, "Thought you were one of Them."

Like Poppy, Neville had clearly been briefed about the events which Harry had not mentioned since waking in safety, and sympathy came to his eyes. He straightened and patted his friend's arm as he disclosed, "Round here we call that a 'brainstorm'. Nothing to worry about, stress makes us do funny things. However, what were you doing on the floor, Poppy will have my guts for garters when she finds out."

Harry managed an ironic smile at the face that Neville pulled, and admitted, "Couldn't sleep, wanted to try and stand up."

"Harry," his companion stood back, with hands on hips and the Poppy Pomfrey patented purse of lips, but he scolded more gently than the woman who had become his mentor once he'd chosen his career path, "your body has been through a lot, and no amount of magic can fool nature into believing that you are well. Poppy only brought you out of the stabilizing field because you began to resist it. You have to give the healing time to sort everything out, until then you could be fine one minute and flat out the next."

"I found that out," the young man muttered, but Neville's understanding care was making him feel better already. He pushed away the inconvenient emotions with his warmth at seeing another old friend and straightened his smile as he greeted, "Hello, Neville, nice to see you again."

He caught Longbottom by surprise with the change of mood, but slowly the stocky man smiled back and relaxed out of healer mode.

"Hello, Harry, it's been a long time."

"Hermione told me you were working at St. Mungo's," the recovering patient liked the trivia better than the shivering in his limbs.

"Technically, I am," came the reply, "if anyone ever counted at St. Mungo's they'd find a department on their books that doesn't exist on site. I am in charge of the night shift on Emergency Ward 7. People have found innovative ways to fund the Resistance."

"Impressive," Harry nodded, and thought for a moment that Neville might be his first source of information; however, then he considered his friend and knew that the guilt the reliable young man would suffer would not be worth the titbits that he might pass on, so his companion warned, "but Nev, I don't think you should have told me that."

Longbottom's face fell as he realised his indiscretion and he admitted, "Oh damn, I'm no good at this intrigue stuff, you know what I was like with secrets at school: if I could remember them, I'd just let them slip. Please don't tell anyone."

Harry just smiled again and assured him, "_Patient_/Healer confidentiality."

Neville relaxed again with a sigh, and then Harry saw the young man's calling come back into his eyes. Longbottom was similar to Madame Pomfrey in a lot of ways, after all, he had spent hours with her in the school medibay during his sixth and seventh years, but Harry discovered he had his own unique way of dealing with patients. Pomfrey ruled, Neville it appeared was more of a realist as he put on a little frown and observed, "If I tell you that it would be best for you if you tried to get some more sleep, you're going to lie down and stare at the ceiling till breakfast, aren't you?"

His charge didn't really need to think about the question, he nodded: they'd shared a dorm for too many years not to know at least something about each other's sleeping habits. The healer crossed his arms and tutted for a moment, but then he shrugged again and admitted, "Alright then, how about a cup of tea."

Harry beamed at his comrade: Neville really was very good at his job.

* * *

Neville's choice of magazines was also not exactly Harry's usual fare, and 'Medicinal Herbology' was doing a good job of putting him off ever going near an apothecary again, but it was also luridly fascinating when you got past all the long Latin names of the plants. He was engrossed in an in-depth description of how Muggles Wort could cure intestinal ulceration, which resembled a battle scene from one of the more graphic novels he had been reading back in the States, when he was disturbed by a knock on the door. Since the entrant didn't wait for permission to enter, Harry knew it had to be one of the staff, and he had a suspicion of who might be standing there as the door was opened. The young man had tried a little bargaining with Neville to overlook his dawn jaunt, but the healer had explained that it had to go on his notes, and so it was inevitable that Poppy Pomfrey was going to find out. The woman could be very stern when she wanted to be, but the look on her face that Harry had been expecting was missing.

"Good morning, Mr Potter," she greeted, on the surface noncommittally, but by her form of address her patient knew he was in the dog house, "and how are we this morning?"

[Oh, so she wants me to admit it first,] the young man saw this tactic a mile away: Madame Pomfrey had never asked too many questions of her charges back at school, she just disapproved when they kept silent.

"I'm sorry, I won't do it again," Harry took the bull by the horns, or rather, the nurse by the apron and gave her his best apologetic stare.

However, something more must have come through his look, because his nurse softened instantly, and she headed over to his bed a look of compassion and concern on her face. She sat down on the bed beside him and laid a hand on his leg as she held his gaze.

"I promise, as soon as I think you are fit enough, I will help you out of this bed myself," she told him sincerely, "but until then, please stay put."

"I learnt my lesson," Harry answered with a brief nod, the chill of the experience in his voice.

Poppy's smile was sad at the edges as she continued in low tones, "Neville told me about the brainstorm as well, are you alright?"

"Bit of a shock," Harry answered honestly.

His carer nodded.

"I think it was enough stress for one morning. The meeting Madame Bones requested with her people, I think I should cancel it."

Her patient didn't argue, he was not really in any mood to go over the details of his captivity with more strangers.

"But I think you need some company, and there is a list of visitors waiting to see you, so if you feel up to it..."

"Yes, please," Harry breathed quickly -- he had really enjoyed the visit from Tonks and Remus the previous day.

Poppy smiled at his enthusiasm, and worked a little nurse's blackmail as she cajoled, "Alright then, a clean plate at breakfast and I will see what I can do."

The young man smirked at her: she wasn't serious, he'd be getting a visitor if he ate his food or not, but he could have eaten a horse anyway.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes again and stared at the door opposite the end of his bed. Full from breakfast and beginning to feel the effects of waking so early, the patient had been trying to doze, but every time, within a few seconds of closing his eyes, the false memory of Brutus/Villainous coming into his room that morning was disturbing his ease. It made him cold all over and quickened his heart rate without fail, and this time was no different. Exasperatedly, Harry ran his hands through his hair and tried to calm down. The impact of the image of his gaoler reaching down at him, leash in hand, was getting worse each time, and it wasn't helping to know that he was winding himself up.

In the cell, the dominance and viciousness of his gaolers was just something to which he had become accustomed, far less important than the mind games which Lucius and Voldemort enjoyed. Yet in the safe, calm surroundings of the private room, their cruelty seemed much more significant, and now he'd brought it to the front of his mind, Harry couldn't make it go away. It made him angry, but it also scared him and he was beginning to understand why Pomfrey had been feeding him dreamless sleep potion: if even when his rational brain was conscious he could conjure up images of his tormentors, then he didn't want to face his dreams. Immersion in horror had made dreams irrelevant, he'd either been too exhausted, too confused, or too surrounded by nightmare for them to make any difference, but once again, the civilised atmosphere was giving them more weight.

Harry tried to distract his mind by picking up the magazine he had discarded on his lap, but in his current state, his senses were playing tricks on him; one moment he was looking at a photograph of willow sticks swaying gently in a breeze, the next he saw and then felt the slice of a switch on his back. The young man flinched and dropped the magazine. Pomfrey had been, as usual, correct, he did need company, a distraction, and the patient considered reaching for a summoning bell on his bedside table, which would ring its twin in the Senior Healer's office. However, Harry was saved by a different source, a light tap on his door.

"Come in," the young man almost begged, his relief audible in his voice, and the curiously concerned face of Minerva McGonagall appeared around the door jam.

"Am I disturbing you, Harry?" the woman asked, hovering by the door as she misinterpreted his vocal expression.

"No!" Harry returned a little too sharply and forced himself to settle somewhat as he elaborated, "In fact I think I was about to go stir crazy."

"Really, well we can't have that," his visitor smiled and waltzed into the room.

Underneath the frosty exterior she used when imposing her authority, lay a sensitive heart, and once you knew her as a friend, Minerva could be as soft as butter. This side of her seemed to be on overdrive in present company, and Harry found himself enveloped in a hug. This was a turn up for the books, because the last time Professor McGonagall had hugged him had been when Gryffindor had won the house cup in his seventh year, and even then she'd been mightily embarrassed by her exuberance after the fact. He hugged back and breathed in the soft essence of lavender that accompanied his friend's presence.

It seemed that Minerva was reluctant to let go of her young friend, but eventually, she did, but she perched on the bed and her hands found Harry's. Her eyes were wet again, and Harry chided lightly, "No tears, Min, you know what I said last time."

His companion laughed excitedly, and ignored his pet shortening of her name as she always did; the habit had started shortly after Harry had left school and as Minerva McGonagall's image had softened in his eyes, so had her imposing name. She had never complained, and he liked the familiarity. The woman produced a hanky from nowhere, dabbing her face with it as she returned, "Forgive an old woman's sentimentality, but when Mr Malfoy told us what they had done to you, I just couldn't believe it. The last month has been just terrible and I can't stop thanking my lucky stars that we have you back safe and whole."

Harry smiled sadly and his mouth moved away with his emotions before his brain caught up as he let slip, "I think that has yet to be determined."

Minerva's face straightened, and her friend saw the school ma'am appear and the woman intoned, "Now Harry, just because the worryworts around here have come up with these silly notions doesn't mean that you have anything about which to concern yourself."

"But I'm one of those worryworts too," the young man confided in the surety before him.

"Tosh, Harry, absolute tosh," the professor pressed on with the spirit she inspired in all her pupils. "I have known you long enough now to make my own judgements, and I have seen you, man and boy, battle with situations which would turn a lesser person's hair white. Yet, you came through them all with a courage I have seen in very few."

Minerva waved her hand with a finality which said her mind was made up on the matter, however she hadn't finished her speech, because she continued, "This time has been bad, very bad, but you have done the most important thing, you have survived. Everything from now on is down hill, and you have your friends around you to make sure of that."

The young man absorbed the support, even though part of him was not as certain as his old house mistress that he was in one piece. She was right, he had survived, he was safe and he was back with his friends. He had plenty for which to be thankful, and the bright side was a better place to be than the descending spiral in which he had been only a minute earlier. It was comforting to have such a staunch supporter in Minerva McGonagall, and quietly, but sincerely he responded, "Thank you."

"That's what friends are for," the witch replied with a smile of triumph, and then added proudly, "You were always one of my pupils whom I knew understood what that meant."

"I missed you all so much," Harry gushed as his companion's words inspired a pique of reminiscences.

He hung on to his emotions, only just, but Minerva let a tear flow and her hand went to her mouth protectively. The young man laughed, it was his method of self-protection, and his eyes were wet as he countered, "If we keep doing this, we'll never manage a conversation."

The observation dragged a snort from his friend, and she waved her hand at him dismissively, her lips curling. Harry's humour was short, but he was still smiling as Minerva regarded him with a slightly reproachful turn of her head.

"And we were always so good at that," the woman joined in, patting his hands.

"We could talk the world away," the patient agreed.

"Over a cup of Heather tea," the impetus was growing.

"And shortcake biscuits," the memory was almost complete, and Harry's smile grew deeper as his mind took him back to the safe hours he had spent in Minerva's study. "We'd sit by the fire in the Winter and by the window in the Summer. I never thought there'd be a day when I couldn't just pop by."

The young man saddened again, but he was not allowed the doldrums. Before his thoughts could properly descend from the comfortable recollections of the study, Minerva McGonagall, Gryffindor through and through, cut right through his melancholy with, "We will have those days back, Harry, evil cannot win. Mr Malfoy is proof of that."

Harry's eyes widened at that admission, and the professor's face also showed surprise, as if she had caught herself out with the consideration. Then she seemed vaguely embarrassed by it. However, the small slip was a boon to Harry in his limbo world: at least Moody's doom and gloom failed to apply to this ally.

"You really believe that?" Harry tested the admission, letting his hope through.

Minerva pursed her lips for a moment, stiff and unsure how to reply, but at least she was thinking. Eventually, she shifted a little, uncomfortable but honest as she answered, "I do."

Harry let out a breath of relief mixed with happiness, and his companion swiftly clarified her statement with, "That does not mean I trust Mr Malfoy the way in which you seem to. I don't know where your change of heart over Draco Malfoy has come from, Harry, you and he were always such confirmed enemies at school, especially after Lucius was locked away."

"People change, Min," the man returned emphatically, unable to stifle his joy at the new position his friend was expressing, "and Draco has been through enough to open his eyes to the darkness that is our enemy. I'm not a fool, or deluded about him, that I know for certain, it's about the only thing I do know for sure."

The woman didn't seem totally convinced, but then Harry wasn't expecting miracles, but he did take heart from the lack of negative expression coming from his companion.

* * *

The conversation with Minerva had rambled on until Harry had begun to yawn, and then his friend had excused herself, despite his protestations for her to stay. Alone, the sentimentality in his comrade might have swayed her good sense and held her by his bedside, however, Madame Pomfrey had performed her usual psychic feat (which Harry had now begun to suspect involved some kind of spy devices) and arrived in time to agree with the decision to leave. The young man had surprised himself, as he managed a light sleep after his visitor's departure, and had only woken for a late lunch. Apparently, dawn excursions were good for the appetite, because the patient had wolfed down the food and then started on some of the chocolate that was bulging out of the bedside cabinet. He was still munching on the compulsively good sweets and flicking through 'Witch's Own' with the curiosity of one uninitiated in the contents of a woman's magazine when his journey of mystification was interrupted by raised voices outside his door.

"I am not some base interrogator, Madame!" Harry recognised Gerald Hippus' high-pitched tones; he put down the magazine, immediately, and somewhat nervously interested by what was quite clearly an altercation.

"My patient is not to be disturbed by any form of stressful situation today, I made that very clear to Madame Bones," Poppy's firm timbre sounded ironically more masculine than her opponent's.

"My task is to heal, not harm," the man sounded like a haughty boy, but from the quaver in his voice, it sounded like the mind-healer was intimidated.

"And so is mine," the lady in charge warned, her volume falling so that if he hadn't been straining to hear, Harry would have missed her last words.

The young man would have gone back to his magazine then, sure that he wasn't going to be seeing Gerald today, and rather glad about it. He was still feeling sensitive about the brainstorm and he didn't fancy going over it as the healer was bound to suggest. However, his eyes had only just fallen back onto the glossy page when another voice joined the conversation. The sound was lower now, and Harry couldn't make out the muffled words, but he did recognise the third intonation. Amelia Bones it appeared did not underestimate her adversary for Harry's time, and had come to back up her subordinate. The patient sighed, and tried to stifle the small pang of disquiet that rose in his chest. Pomfrey was good, but his instinct told him that Bones was going to win this one. He closed his magazine slowly, put the chocolates away and then just waited for his next visitor, his pulse speeding at the thought of a second meeting with Gerald Hippus.


	15. ...and Failure

"So how would you describe your relationship with Minister Fudge?"

Harry made a face, but his grimace was not too serious. True to his suspicions, Harry had received a guest about a minute after the argument had disappeared from outside his door. His concern, however, he found unnecessary, because his healer was better at his job than he had given him credit for. Gerald had begun where they had left off the previous day, with general questions about life and Harry had actually begun to enjoy the conversation. However, as his enquiries came nearer to the recent past, the second session with Hippus was becoming more difficult, and Harry was having to work harder to separate his thoughts into words for the discussion.

The patient searched for a concise description, and returned, "Stormy."

The young man looked up from where he had been staring at the covers for a while as his companion failed to comment. He didn't know how long they'd been talking this time, but over this and the last session he had had sufficient time to become accustomed to his healer's body language, and Gerald's even stare told him he was waiting for more than just the one word. Harry still wasn't totally at ease with the whole 'sharing' process, but Hippus had been nothing but encouraging, and so he put effort into a more informative version of the relationship.

"We disagree on most things, especially when it comes to my life," the patient elaborated, knowing that an edge had come to his voice. "If I hadn't been such a useful propaganda tool, I think he'd have deported me back to Britain long before now."

Harry went back to looking at his legs.

"Did he give you your orders this time?"

"Of course not," the young man snapped back, letting his disdain show, "he doesn't have the guts to face a man when he knows he's sending him to his death. That's why he took so long to admit that Voldemort was back: he always leaves the dirty work to others."

"Harry, you are exhibiting signs of hostility --," Gerald observed, but his subject didn't give him time to add to his conclusion as he snarked, "I am aren't I? Don't think it takes any training to analyse that."

The other man paused and let the air clear a moment, before he drew in a small, steadying breath and continued, "What I was going to ask, Harry, is -- can you try to identify for me the fundamental basis of your hostility towards Minister Fudge?"

"He's a prat," Harry growled, but then heard his own words and knew how childish he was being.

He glanced back up at his healer apologetically, and was surprised when he saw no condemnation of his temper. The carer's open face did not even suggest he recognised the snit, as he carried on, "Let me try putting it a different way: what are your feelings about him with regards to recent events?"

"You mean do I blame him for what happened?" the young man offered his own interpretation of Hippus' leading question with a humourless smile.

"Is that how you feel?" the shrink leant forward a little, his expression earnest, and the developing idea caught Harry by surprise.

He paused before answering, analysing his thoughts about the Ministry.

"He must have been the one doing the negotiating," the young man rationalised. "He had to have suspected what Voldemort intended to do with me. But it isn't that so much, it's that I know he would have tried to convince himself that Voldie would have slapped me on the wrists and then stuck me on the first trip back to America. I can handle reality, if someone had just stood up and told me that they knew what I going into, that they appreciated what I was doing, but none of them would even look me in the eye when I left."

"You wanted recognition for what you were doing?"

"No," Harry answered firmly, his motives clearing for himself as well as his analyst, "I just wanted them to stop pretending. Ever since the exile, it's been 'keep your chin up', 'look on the bright side', 'it will be alright'. But it won't be alright, people are dead, a madman's running this country and he is destroying everything that is good and right about magic. I know him, he's a monster, there is nothing good about him, and he has to be stopped."

The frustration came pouring out of the young man unchecked, and he finished, breathing hard only because his intensity made the world spin. He closed his eyes and tried to bring his heart rate under control. It wasn't as bad as either of the previous days, but he had forgotten the warnings from Pomfrey about over-exerting himself either mentally or physically.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hippus was beside him in a second, and felt for his pulse.

"Will be...minute. Get...light-headed...if...push...too hard," Harry panted and tried to relax away from the dizziness.

His healer remained close, but released his wrist as the moment passed. Harry ignored him for a while longer, letting his senses catch up, but he could still feel the other man's attention on him, so finally the recovering man looked up and across at his companion. He saw genuine concern in Gerald's eyes, and the man asked, "Are you fit enough to continue, or should we call it a day."

"I'm alright," Harry returned determinedly, more to spite his weakness than from any wish to continue the session.

Hippus nodded and then pursed his lips as though considering something. It took him only a few thoughts to decide and then her disclosed, "With your permission, Harry, I think it is time we tried a new technique."

The young man watched as his healer went back to his seat, and more accurately, the bag which was sat beneath it. Harry knew what was in it, it wasn't so long ago that he didn't remember the glowing contents, or the disquiet it had given him yesterday. Gerald pulled out the large lump of what Harry guessed was either rose quartz or fluorite, and held it out to his subject. The patient surveyed it's undulating light dubiously, and made no attempt to take the rock.

"Understand my thoughts how?" he asked his question from the day before again, still uncertain about the method.

"It really is perfectly safe," Hippus began patiently. "I use focus stones to help my patients relax. With my guidance, the stone will allow you to enter a meditative state where your memories can come forward safely. I assure you that this technique is one of my specialities, and many of my patients have said it helped them to understand their trauma and to come to terms with it."

"But you said this stone is different," Harry persisted, his obstinate side coming through.

The mind-healer pursed his lips a moment and surprised his patient with the mild show of annoyance; however, he suppressed it quickly, replacing it with the condescending smile which Harry had begun to understand was his professional way of trying to show that he knew best.

"It is a minor modification I have used with great success with volunteers as I have developed it," Gerald pressed on, still holding out the focus stone. "It merely allows me to tune into the thoughts which the stone is bringing forward so I may better guide the meditation."

"Like a pensieve?" the young man was still looking for clarification.

"Similar, I suppose," the healer didn't seem very impressed by the allusion, but he accepted it with qualification, "but without the disconnection to the host."

Harry took the stone, aware that he could argue this to conclusion, but that maybe he should trust the expert, at least until proven wrong. The rock was warm to the touch and pulsed brightly as he cradled it in both hands. His fingers tingled a little, and the warm feeling ran up his arms a way.

"She likes you," Gerald beamed as he lowered himself back into his seat, "she recognises the strength of your mind. You studied Occlumency, didn't you?"

Harry nodded, his mind more on the influence of the quartz than forming words. The rock was speaking to the rigid training that Dumbledore himself had finally undertaken to give his mentee, in fact it was singing to the awareness that the tutelage had given him. The structure the young man had been forced to accommodate in his thoughts in order to protect them against Voldemort's tricks had never before struck him as anything more than a necessary tool, but with the new influence reaching out to him, his view began to change. The focus stone pulsed strongly again and seduced Harry's full attention. Captivated, he sunk back into the pillows and rested his hands, protectively cupped around the crystal, in his lap.

"I think this is going to be a very effective technique for you, Harry," his healer observed smoothly, "now I am going to attune with the stone, you may sense my presence."

The magic in his hands shifted, and Harry felt the flow of power up his arms falter for a moment. As it settled again, he knew the rawness of the influence had been tamed to another will, and it irked him. Gerald's slightly feminine laugh told him that the man had picked up on his little bit of illogical anger, and the man assured him, "You are the first subject to have that reaction."

Harry didn't reply, he just let his emotion settle back to the pleasant hum that was now running through his body, trying to ignore the new presence which was piggy-backing his own.

"Right, Harry, now we need to become accustomed to each other," Hippus advised, "I normally take my subjects through an exercise to attune them with the stone, but you already seem to have done that without my assistance, so I suggest we try a memory. Harry please try to recall a time when you would have considered yourself happy."

The young man smiled to himself, he knew exactly where he wanted to be. The sensation of speed came first, the touch of the air flowing past his face at an almost blinding rate. Gerald gasped, and Harry felt his surprise on the edge of the experience; he focused more fully on the memory. Harry could feel the broom beneath him like he was still riding it, his old Firebolt, an extension of his will, perfectly under his command as he dove after the snitch. This was where he had had no cares, no Voldemort, no Order, he was only the seeker, Captain of his team and the best in the school, and his childish excitement erupted from him like a volcano's lava. He could see the snitch, it was only a few yards in front, the small, glinting flutter that demanded all his attention. The Ravenclaw seeker was behind him, she was good, and he'd enjoyed the race they'd been running for the last few minutes, but now it was time to finish this. The rush of adrenaline made Hippus gasp as the young man leant forward and demanded the most from his broom. His arm shot out in front of him, and his whole body poised, focused on the final few feet. He didn't even have to think about his balance anymore, it was just a natural part of him, the shift of his body to accommodate the stretch. The world was nothing more than a blur of colour rushing past his periphery, only the tiny golden ball mattered and his elation was almost overpowering as his fingers closed around the fluttering object.

Harry drew away from the memory as he heard his companion dragging in breath. He couldn't pull himself away from the stone, it was still too inviting, but he forced his thoughts to nothing as Albus had taught him, leaving the triumph of the Quidditch game with an ache for the old days. He waited there in the darkness of an empty mind for his fly-on-the-wall to catch up.

"That was incredible, I am beginning to see why you enjoy Quidditch so much," Gerald breathed eventually, "your Occlumency skills have made the interaction very powerful. Harry can you still hear me?"

"Hmm," the young man managed a brief audible connection with his healer, but then he sank back into the seduction of the focus stone.

The natural vibrations spoke to somewhere deep inside him, drawing him into his own mind, and he put up no defences. Memories could not harm.

"Harry, we need to look at more recent things now," Hippus' tone had gone from excited to serious, and his patient didn't like it. "Harry, take us to Hogwarts, show me the tower."

Harry's mind shied away from that idea, he knew the pain that resided there, however, Gerald cajoled, "Show me the room, Harry, just the room. What did it look like?"

The young man dragged in an uncertain breath; he didn't want to think about this, it was bad. Yet the shapes of those terrible surroundings began to form despite his trepidation. A creeping fear began at the base of his spine, moving outwards, turning him cold as his mind took him back to the torture chamber. The place was half-formed at first as his memory picked out that which had had most impact on him. Harry heard his own mew as he felt himself back in the defiled room, surrounded by the mist of his memory, but facing a very solid recreation of the man-size table on which he had spent so many hours. Harry's force of will held back the thoughts of those hours, which he could feel on the edges of his perception. He focused on the physical structure, using his concentration on forming the knots in the wood, and the prickling fibre of the ropes to throw up a barrier as his training had taught him, a protection against the emotions associated with his thoughts. Gerald's influence was still close by, calm, reassuring, and his subject was glad he was there in the cold, emotionless half-memory. The man soothed, "It is safe, Harry, this is just a memory. Nothing can hurt you here. Why have you chosen this table?"

The young man couldn't explain, couldn't go any further into the memory. He could feel his control slipping, even on the edge of the recollections, and the half-thought horror clenched his teeth.

"Don't be afraid, Harry," Hippus urged, his anticipation eroding more of his patient's will. "Facing this can only help."

The subject could not understand why his physician did not sense the danger of the precipice on which they were balanced. This was not something passive and far away, this was fresh, raw emotion and he knew if the flood-gates burst that he would not be able to stem the flow. Yet still his healer pressed him, "I am here, Harry, trust me, let me guide you through this. It will be difficult, but it cannot harm."

The memories began as a trickle at first, and the young man moaned as he felt the rough, wearing touch of the rope on his wrists and ankles again. The helplessness returned, ripping away his barriers, and Harry was dragged into the experience as unable to contest his situation as he had been as a prisoner.

_He was back on the table, his body aching, his mind disoriented by the aftermath of a kiss from little Vipera. He panted, trying to clear his senses of the silver tinges that her influence brought, but as indefinite as the light touch of her coils on his stomach, the features of his world remained edged in metallic magic. The captive didn't know how many times the snake had been allowed to inject her poison into his body, but it flooded his system, opening him to her hypnotic effect.

"My Enemy," her sibilant call enticed him to submit, but he resisted, shaking with the effort, and she scolded, "you still will not dance with me."

The young man no longer had breath to reply as the potency of the venom quickened his heart-rate and made it difficult to force air into his lungs. The toxin would kill him before he would surrender to it, and he called the remainder of the resistance Albus had taught him into his mind, throwing up every barrier he had.

"Master, the enemy will not let me in," the snake complained to her owner, her amusement at the stubborn defiance all used up. "Another kiss would kill him."

Harry shuddered as the warm body uncurled and glided up his chest, and he willed his torturer to cast the last bite. Yet the light tones of his nemesis mooted that possibility as Voldemort finally intervened, "Enough, My Darling, I need him alive."

The prisoner let out his breath in fits, half relieved, half disappointed that this could not be finished. And he finally let the total exhaustion flatten his body to the table. Everything hurt. He closed his eyes, too tired to care what happened next, as the Dark Lord threw orders at his lackeys, and hands lifted the slender torturer from his torso.

The momentary peace lasted only as long it took for Vipera to be moved out of range, and then Harry heard Lucius' frustrated tones curse, "Crucio!"_

In his mind, he screamed, but in reality, Harry's body went rigid as the memory overwhelmed him. He heard a cry, far away from where he had been taken by the focus stone, but he could do nothing to discern its source as the unforgivable curse possessed him. He knew it wasn't real, the pain did not hold the full quota of qualities for the all-encompassing spell, but that did not stop it from ripping through his mind and trapping him as surely as the original magic. And it did not end. This was his focus, this is what lay at the centre of the memory that his concern for his sanity had found, and he could not escape the event horizon. Vipera, Voldemort, Lucius, none of them mattered here, in this torture, it was purely his soul against the magic, a struggle for survival, and Harry recognised with terrified certainty that he would lose.

"...hear me, Harry can you hear me?" Madame Pomfrey's urgent tones broke through the hold of the focus stone, and he dropped it as hands shook his shoulders.

The patient blinked at his healer, still lost in the memory for a moment, but her concern brought him all the way back and his senses realigned to the present. Groaning came from over Poppy's shoulder, and the young man's heart tore as he remembered the scream he had heard and belatedly recognised that it had belonged to Gerald. He glanced around his carer and saw another woman dealing with the crumpled heap that was Hippus.

"Oh no," he moaned, guilt piling up behind his own distress as he realised what effect his memories had had on the mind-specialist, "he said it couldn't harm, he promised."

This couldn't be happening, the pain had been bad enough the first time, but knowing that it could hurt others brought so much more responsibility. There were consequences to his torture even after the fact, and the young man could not handle it. His emotions mixed into the nightmare, and Harry repeated himself as he headed for hysteria, "No harm, he promised."

"Harry, look at me," Pomfrey ordered, and her strength forced the weakening spirit to return his attention to her face. Her eyes were blazing with purpose and she told him firmly, "This is not your fault, Harry, do you understand?"

"I couldn't stop it," the penitent confessed, his guilt unabated, "it just kept coming."

Hippus whimpered, and his attacker flinched in response.

"I'm sorry," Harry choked, as the emotions robbed him of his strength.

Poppy pushed him back into the pillows and quickly looked over her shoulder.

"Get him out of here and bring me the DSP," she ordered the other woman, and then turned back to her patient.

The world was spinning again, but the young man had to let the horror of his actions out.

"Cruciatus: I didn't mean to hurt him," he needed to tell his nurse.

"Not your fault, Harry," Pomfrey commanded, but the sight of Gerald being half walked, half carried out of the room limited the impact of her assurance.

"I'm sorry," he repeated directly to the wreck he had created, and dazed brown eyes met his.

"Still sane," the man intoned, almost as if he didn't believe it, and Harry could not hold the gaze of his victim. He saw too much horror in the newly informed stare, and he let the dizziness over power his own sight.

"Harry, stay with me," Poppy urged as his heart-beat thundered in his ears and a faint threatened.

The patient coughed and then whined as the world lurched some more, but he concentrated on his carer's request. For a moment, he teetered on the edge of blackness, wanting the release from his tumultuous emotions, but the release did not want him. Poppy still had her hands firmly on his shoulders as Harry came out of the swoon, and her gaze inspected his weary return. The pique was gone, washed away by exhaustion, but the young man could still feel the guilt behind his eyes. Pomfrey must have seen it as well, because she told him directly, "That idiot will be alright, this is his fault, not yours."

"But -," Harry began and was swiftly interrupted with, "But nothing. He was in control, whatever happened, it was his fault."

The young man didn't have the strength to argue, and just stared across at the surety in his healer. They remained like that for a few seconds, weakness dominated by, but needing the certainty, until they were interrupted by the returning woman. Harry let out a long breath as he was released from his second hypnotic trance of the day by Poppy turning to her subordinate and taking a cup that was offered.

"Harry," she began again, as she was shifting back to him, "I think you should sleep."

"No," her patient complained immediately, his fear of his memories very close to the surface. However, the formidable woman seemed to have pre-empted his objection, because she informed him, "This is dreamless sleep potion. You must rest."

Harry sagged and accepted the beaker to his lips. Unable to fight his weariness, or the darkness behind his emotions, the young man drank the raspberry-flavoured potion slowly, guided by his healer. Harry let the effects overcome him almost before he had finished the last mouthful of liquid, and his last experience was of someone else removing his glasses.


	16. Pick Up, Dust Off, Put Through the Wringer

The young man came out of the imageless sleep in much the same emotional condition with which he had gone in. However, not having been given an opportunity to sort itself out in his subconscious, the focused memory which had damaged Hippus hit the awakener full force, and he sat up rapidly with a cry of mixed-up guilt and remembered pain. It was night, the lights were low again and as Harry stared ahead, loneliness threatened to add to the shaking which possessed his limbs unbidden. However, his carer was a well-prepared woman, and a polite cough drew the patient out of the remnants of his mind. Startled, Harry glanced towards the source of the sound, and settled as his gaze fell on Albus Dumbledore sitting in the chair he had created days earlier. The old wizard blinked at his companion over his glasses, letting a heavy old tome rest on his robed lap.

"Hippus, how is he?" Harry asked fervently as he saw his mentor begin to word some banality.

Albus did not answer immediately, he forced a pause in his companion's urgency with his strong stare. However, he was aware of Harry's consternation, and he disclosed smoothly, "Gerald Hippus will be perfectly alright, Harry. He gave himself a shock."

"I gave him a shock, me," the young man returned, self-loathing coming out in vehemence, and he slammed a fist into his chest, "more than a shock."

"No, Harry," Dumbledore did not raise his voice, but his presence demanded his friend's whole attention with his earnestness, "Gerald was unprepared for the strength in the magic he used, and he has since asked me to convey his apologies to you for the distress this incident must have caused you."

Harry laughed, his sound cold and unforgiving both for himself and his misguided healer. The memory of the torture hung around and through him, making him defensive, and the thought of ever again letting down his shields like he had only hours earlier unsettled him. He looked away from the steadiness of the older wizard, up to the shadows of the ceiling and rocked a little. Hippus' gaunt face hung in his thoughts, mixing with the sneers and jibes of his gaolers and he couldn't help the association of danger that he now held with the idea of sharing his memories. His recollections could do harm, Gerald had been wrong, and he wouldn't risk that again, they would stay inside. He battled with the idea of keeping his emotions back, needing to know he could do it, to protect anyone else from their power, but not sure how.

"Harry," Albus interrupted his desperate thoughts and the young man looked back over to the still calmly seated figure.

Harry hated the stoicism in his companion then, knowing that so much more went on under the surface of the powerful man, and wanting it to come out for a moment, to admit the frailties of normal human beings. If Dumbledore saw Harry's thoughts, he didn't let on, and he continued firmly once he was the focus again, "I cannot force you to believe what I say, but I hope we have known each other long enough for you to trust me to some degree. Your recovery so far has been remarkable. That you were even coherent after the horrors that our enemies inflicted on you is a source of comfort and wonder to both those who knew you before this and those who did not. Do not let the actions of one foolish man do what your tormentors failed to do. Do not let this bring you down."

Harry struggled with the almost stern edge to his friend, confused, but hanging on to the thin indignation that the challenge inspired in him. He didn't have the strength to push away his feelings entirely, but he did manage, "He's really alright?"

The professor nodded sagely and confirmed, "Yes, Harry, Gerald is shaken by the experience, and chastened I might add, but he is very much alright."

The young man sagged, weak as the pique slipped away, and he lay back down with a sigh. Albus did not leave him time to muse on that either, however, as he began more gently, "Madame Pomfrey did not wish you to be alone when you awoke, and I requested that I be the one to be present. I -- now how did Ron put it? -- 'pulled rank', since he was also insistent on being here. I hope you don't mind."

Harry snorted, and grabbed his glasses so that the smile at the corners of his companion's mouth came into focus. He could imagine the scene, as his best friend's loyalty clashed with Dumbledore's authority.

"I'm glad he's not here," the young man returned honestly as the thought occurred to him; it wasn't a pleasant feeling, knowing that there were some things he didn't want to share with his oldest friend, but Ron's good humour and buck-up spirit were not what he needed.

Albus put the fingers of each hand together and rested them against his lips, and there was a confirmation sitting behind his stare as he regarded his mentee. They understood each other, and Harry knew he didn't have to clarify what the old wizard had already suspected.

"Gerald described what you showed him. How are you feeling, Harry?" the wise man moved on, and it sounded so different from the way in which Hippus had ever posed the question.

"Cold," the young man answered, more calmly than he'd expected; his pulse was slowing now, and the memory was beginning to recede back to where it had originated. "Angry," that emotion took him by surprise, but with Dumbledore's insistence that Gerald had been at fault, he found himself annoyed with the bumbling healer and he continued sharply, "He promised it was a safe technique."

"Someone with mental skills not as focused as your own would not have reproduced the memory so precisely," Albus informed him. "However, it was a very imprudent thing to do with anyone who has undergone trauma. Gerald, shall we say, let his researcher's ideals run away with his good sense, and you have every right to be angry."

Dumbledore's leave opened Harry to a shocking rush of emotion, and he didn't even attempt to control his temper as he yelled, "I couldn't get out of it, that stone locked me into my own memory."

Silence, the young man was given no response to his tantrum, and it irked him further. He sat up again, recklessly ignoring his weakness and daring the room to start spinning. He glared at his serene companion and let the rage take him completely. The fear behind the outburst also came through as he complained, "Not even Lucius made it go on that long!"

Harry curled over his knees as the world took him up on his dare with a vengeance, but he was getting stronger, and the nausea he felt was mainly mental. He growled the rest of his complaint, holding in his vulnerability and pushed back at the hysteria. Only as he regained his control did Albus engage him, and he asked again, "Are you alright, Harry?"

"Apart from the brainstorms and the hysterics and the room spinning whenever I do anything, I'm fine," the patient snarked, and then sighed again as he heard how he sounded. He pulled his knees up and hugged them, resting his cheek against them and looked exasperatedly at his friend. Dumbledore blinked back at him, apparently unphased by it all. "Do I seem very young to you?"

Albus smiled.

"It is partly your youth that brought you through the worst of this, and will help take you the rest of the way," the old wizard stated his opinion as evenly as always. "I would be more concerned if you did not show signs of disquiet."

"You must have seen this kind of thing before, the last time He rose," Harry found philosophy easier than his own emotions.

For a moment, he felt like he was being examined, as his companion surveyed him silently, his eyes searching, and then his observation was met with, "Voldemort and his Death Eaters destroyed many lives the last time. You have seen the Longbottoms, and they are but one example of the evil that was wrought against us. Yet he did not rise to supremacy, your mother's love defeated him and much of his hatred was contained. It pains me to witness the horrors that this regime has incited, both within its ranks and from those who are desperate to appease rather than oppose it."

Harry hadn't seen Dumbledore angry very often, and it took him a few seconds to recognise the flash in the ancient eyes and the edge to the normally measured voice. He lifted his head off his knees again and paid more attention as his friend continued, "I shall have words with Cornelius Fudge the next time I see him, about both the Orb and his agreement to your part in its delivery. I cannot put aside his disregard for your life, and his wilful ignorance of how dangerous it was to provide Voldemort with either you or that concentration of dark magic is unforgivable."

"He doesn't know the prophecy," Harry defended, irrationally afraid of the emotional side of his confidant even though he had willed to see it.

"He did not require the particulars of the prophecy to know that it existed," Albus' smooth timbre was broken by a sharpness that sounded so alien it hurt.

"Albus, don't be angry, not now," Harry begged, feeling young and vulnerable and needing his rock.

The old man started as though stung, and he stared at his companion. Harry held his breath, stuck between the kindly professor of his childhood and the powerful figure who sat before him. At that moment he wanted the presence of the wise, eccentric headmaster, and his friend saw that. The young man let out the air from his lungs as he recognised a softening in his mentor. Dumbledore sat back in his chair, his shoulders relaxing, and his serenity returned like a well-worn mask as he soothed, "Forgive me, Harry, all our emotions are running high just at the moment."

Harry rested his cheek back on his knees and absorbed some of the calm, however deceptive he knew it to be. Denial was a safe place, it held back most of the world, and he was tired of the world. It was not just an emotional weariness, and the young man blinked heavily as Albus shifted in and out of focus. The wizard's strong stare seemed to be the only part of him that stayed in perspective, and Harry latched on to the power in it, wanting its solace.

"You seem drowsy, Harry," Dumbledore's voice was far away, smooth and composed.

"Don't want to sleep," the patient complained, remembering somewhere in his dozy brain that the thoughts which came with uninhibited sleep could be bad, but his words slurred and he slipped further into the protection of his companion's gaze.

"I will watch your dreams for you, My Boy," Albus assured, not insistent, but inviting.

Harry didn't resist anymore. His body relaxed as his mind let go, and he slid into the power that was offered.

* * *

Harry woke slowly, and his mind was radiating a sense of being cheated: cheated about what took longer to form and then his brain caught up with what Albus had done.

"Sly old bugger," the young man muttered to himself as the logical side of his thoughts analysed his friend's use of mesmerism.

A small part of him niggled that he had succumbed to the suggestions, but most of him was in fact grateful to his protector for taking away the rest of the night. He was feeling a lot calmer as he opened his eyes on the daylight level of the room, and he stretched out of the curl in which he found himself. What was left of his covers started to slide off the bed, and Harry grabbed for them. However, his still sleepy senses were not fast enough, and he swore and sat up as they descended the rest of the way to the floor. The patient was used to fast moves making the world go round, and he reached out either side to steady himself; however he was rather impressed when his vision remained steady. Yet the moment of triumph was diminished as Harry heard his door click shut. He glanced across at the chair where he knew Albus had to have been only moments before, and then, confused by the sudden departure, he stared at the plain door.

Slowly it dawned on the awakener why his companion had left. It wasn't cold in the quiet room, Harry didn't need the blankets that were in an untidy pile on the linoleum, but he chilled a little as he concluded how much thrashing it had taken to get the covers onto the floor. The young man didn't know how he had done it, but Albus had been true to his word and he had to have protected him from the dreams which had caused the chaotic aftermath. As he thought about it, Harry recognised a ghost of the nightmares at the back of his mind where Dumbledore had not been able to reach, and an extraordinary gratitude grew through everything else. It made moot any guilt which the retreat of his companion inspired and overwhelmed any need he felt for his company: there would be time for all that later, for now he sat calm and silent in the knowledge of the exceptional generosity he had been shown by his very dear friend.

Harry wasn't given time for the daze to ware off naturally; his reverie was interrupted by a brief rap at the door and then Madame Pomfrey bustled in, something slung over her arm.

"Good morning, Harry," she greeted brightly, and then disappeared from view as she headed straight to picking up the pile of blankets.

"Morning," Harry replied, a smile creeping up on him.

"Well you seem to have pre-empted my intentions," Poppy observed, placing the covers onto the end of the bed with a little pat on top of the folded cloth she added to the heap. Her patient just raised a curious eyebrow, and she told him conspiratorially, "I promised when I thought you were well enough --."

"I can get out of bed?!" the young man's grin widened as his sense of freedom expanded and he finally identified the article the woman had been carrying as a dressing gown.

"How about taking breakfast from the chair?" his carer suggested warmly.

"Just try and stop me," Harry returned enthusiastically.

"Alright, now, gently does it," Poppy's eyes spoke a warning to her patient before he did anything too hasty, and he couldn't miss the concern in her eyes.

The young man used his own trepidation at yesterday's failure to stifle some of his eagerness as his world got that little bit bigger, and nodded obediently.

"Lets get you stood up then," the healer continued, and backed away from the bed, holding her hands out to her charge.

Harry took a deep breath and wriggled around like he had the morning before; the repetition caused another pang of doubt, but the young man pushed through it, not about to turn down this opportunity. Carefully, he slid his feet to the floor. He gasped a laugh and shivered as his soles chilled on the tiles, half nervous, half ecstatic. He was stronger again than yesterday, and it took little effort to stand up, however, the patient grabbed for his helper's hands as the memory of his sudden collapse the previous day made him anxious.

"Good," Poppy encouraged, and her own concern came through again as she enquired, "How are you feeling?"

Her hands gripped his, and Harry was glad for the support more on a psychological level than for any physical weakness. In truth, he was feeling giddy, but he suspected that again, this had more to do with his mind than his body, and he smiled at his healer as he answered, "No ill effects so far."

The woman relaxed a little, some of the risk disappearing from her eyes, and she pressed on, "Can you stand alone while I get the robe?"

"Well, it isn't so far to the floor," the young man joked with a shrug as he covered another stab of disquiet; Poppy wasn't impressed with his lack of optimism, and she frowned at him, the worry coming back. Harry just nodded firmly, trying to chase it away again.

The healer let go of his hands reluctantly, and her patient could feel her eyes watchful on his back as she leant over to reach for the dressing gown. Despite both sets of concern, Harry was still standing by the time he was wrapped in the warmth of the robe and was wearing slippers that had come out of its pockets. Shoes felt strange after a month of not having any, and it was this that caused the young man to take his time crossing to the chair rather than any weakness he felt in his legs. The adventure quickened his pulse, but the world remained the right way up, and Harry felt remarkably fit as he sat down in the chair. Pomfrey also seemed impressed, and there was a relief in her eyes as she more or less fixed him into his seat by taking the wheelable table from the bed and adjusting it so that it fitted over the arms of the chair and then locking the wheels with a wave of her wand.

"Don't you trust me?" Harry asked lightly, his best innocent expression in place, and his mood too buoyant to let the highchair arrangement bother him.

"Mr Potter, I have known you too long to trust you," Poppy returned sagely, but a smile was playing around her lips as she observed, "and the mood you are in, I would probably find you passed out in the corridor if I left you to your own devices."

Harry chuckled.

"Now promise me you will not try to leave this chair while I go to fetch your breakfast," the woman solicited.

Her patient grinned, but saw the underlying seriousness to her request, and nodded as he confirmed, "Wizard's honour."

"Precisely," the healer told him, standing back with her hands on her hips in mock disapproval, but then she took him at his word and carried on with her work.

* * *

Harry stared wistfully at the dressing gown which was now hung safely out of his reach on the back of the door. It had been a short acquaintance, long enough to have breakfast and admire a pretty young assistant as she changed the bed sheets, and long enough to become accustomed to the new freedom, and then Pomfrey had called a halt.

[Wasn't as if it was even a very big swoon,] the young man mourned now that he was safely back in bed.

However he had to admit that the sudden way the world had just flipped out and back in again without any warning had unsettled him enough that he had alerted his healer. It had been the sensible thing to do, after all, sliding out of the chair if it happened again had been a distinct possibility, since Poppy had moved the table to his side after breakfast, but it didn't stop the patient feeling like a bit of a coward and regretting his caution. Coupled with the fact that, despite Hippus' disastrous meeting, and Harry's abortive excursion, Madame Pomfrey had informed him that in a few minutes he would be receiving Amelia Bones and the other resistance leaders, Harry's spirits had gone through the floor.

With the reminder of the proving ground in which he resided, the young man was feeling the captivity again, and he knew the meeting was most likely to be adversarial. Only the fact that he was fighting for Draco as well as himself found Harry's resolve to make a good impression. The knock at the door therefore inspired a straightening of his shoulders, and the young man put a self-assured edge to his voice as he bade entry. However, he was not prepared for three of the four figures who walked into the room.

Madame Bones led in her troops. She was as expected, dressed in a tweed suit, her monocle firmly in place. Her comrades were a shock. Dementers in cold, deserted places came instantly to mind as Harry was greeted by the presence of three deeply hooded figures. The way the light cast not even a glimmer of shape beyond the rim of the cloth made the young man's skin crawl and he stiffened defensively, unable to hide his repugnance. Amelia assessed the widening of his eyes and the hardening of his features, and halted her party just inside the door.

"Good morning, Harry," the woman offered; her host did not accept the platitude, and so she pressed on smartly, "I wanted those whose judgement I trust implicitly to be part of the Resistance's deliberations about you, Harry, but I hope you can understand that I cannot afford for you to know their identities until this matter is settled."

"Disguise is one thing, but you could have warned me you were going to dress them up like Dementers," Harry returned as evenly as he could manage.

Amelia surveyed her people and all three hoods turned to her, awaiting her word. The woman's reaction wasn't what her prisoner was expecting, she smiled, and observed, "I can see what you mean, but then you and I both know that you have no problem defending against Dementers."

"That's when I'm armed, just at the moment, I don't have my wand," Harry waved his hands, niggled by the lack of concern his guest was showing. "I take it that you people have it, because I left the castle with it and woke up without it."

"That we do," a male voice interrupted the exchange, and Harry glanced across at the hood from which he judged the sound had come, "which brings us to an interesting point, how did you come to have your own wand during your escape?"

"Lucius kept it, and Draco knows his way around his father's chambers rather better than Lucius thought," the prisoner returned moodily, and thought to himself, [So it begins.]

* * *

Glaring wasn't helping anymore, Harry was feeling cornered and tired by the unrelenting questions that his anonymous interrogators were firing at him. Amelia was sat back from the others, an observer, and a quill and paper very similar to Gerald's hung in the air next to her ear, taking down every word of the onslaught. She had only intervened a couple of times, calming when discussions had become heated, or requesting her own clarification. However, he was very aware of her presence taking everything in.

"Yes, I tried to escape twice before," Harry confirmed what had been more of a statement than a question from the only female hood; she was sat on a plain little stool she had provided for herself on his left, a colleague was stood at the end of the bed, and the other man was sat on his right.

"What were the consequences of these failed attempts?" the faceless being who loomed over the proceedings followed up immediately.

"First time they took away my clothes," the young man admitted quietly as he recalled his mortification, and his eyes were anywhere but on his disguised acquaintances.

"And the second?"

Harry glanced up angrily at the tall man who seemed to have no time for his feelings; nothing: the stranger could show no expression, but neither did he speak again, he just waited for an answer. The young man looked away again, wrapping his arms around himself defensively, and told them, "Lucius broke my glasses."

"Not as significant as the first consequence."

"You just don't get it, do you?" Harry snarled at the dismissive tone. "They were all I had left."

"And yet you tried again, why risk it?" the woman cut in unrepentantly.

"Why not?" her subject countered, upset by the clinical cut of the questions and beginning to wonder what cooperation was getting him.

"How did you plan your escape with Malfoy?" came from the right, keeping his weary attention jumping.

"I didn't, he organised it. Draco saved my life."

"What motive did he have for planning such a risky escape after spending so long conforming to his father's wishes?" The tone from the woman was derisive, it was clear what opinion she held of the ex-Heir Apparent.

"Neither of us could take any more," Harry snapped back, running his hands through his hair in a mixture of present and remembered frustration; he was shaking. "They had begun to use us against each other."

"How?"

The young man drew in a deep, jagged breath as he recalled the last torture session he had endured. His thoughts around that time wouldn't form properly and he closed his eyes as his mind protected itself.

"Hurt me," he forced out, needing to explain, "to make him obey."

Harry tried to hold back the half-seen images and partial experiences that came through his answer: it had been barely a week ago, less if he counted the days of which he had actually been conscious and the cruel abandon of his masters cut at his resolve. It was only as the memories hit him that the young man considered how carefully these new captors had skated around discussions of the actual torture he had endured. They'd tested him on many things: his motives for leaving and finally returning to his homeland; his history with Voldemort; his opinion of Lucius Malfoy; where he had been held; what he had seen at Hogwarts outside the torture chamber and much more. It had not been difficult to conclude that they were looking to decide if the escape had been genuine or staged, but for all their needling, they had not pushed him on the specifics of the torments he had endured. He knew they hadn't meant to this time, it had been a superficial question, but the prisoner's battered ego found the depth behind it. He heard Voldemort's cold tones again requesting entertainment and the sickness rose in his stomach.

"Potter!"

Harry jumped and stared wildly up at the hood at the end of the bed from whom the sharp call came.

"Did he obey?" the woman drew his distracted attention back to the left and she spoke as though she had repeated herself several times already.

"No," her subject mumbled, still halfway between his own mind and the interview; he forced the weakness back with how impressed he had been with Draco and continued with more concentration, "No, Draco turned on Lucius, attacked him and told him he no longer had a father."

"You witnessed this?"

He nodded and clarified, "After --," he stopped short of expressing exactly what he was thinking, "afterwards, they took me to the medibay to be healed. Draco brought me my wand and when Lucius hit him, he fought back."

"Lucius hit Draco?" the enquiry was incredulous.

"Lucius has been abusing Draco since he was a child," Harry didn't hide his disgust.

"He told you this?"

[They think he lied,] Harry concluded as he recognised the disbelief in his questioners, and his hackles came all the way back up; the young man's own vulnerabilities took a back seat as he fired in defence of his lover and disclosed hotly, "I saw the results: Lucius didn't like Draco and I being friends and he wasn't subtle in showing his displeasure on either of us. Only since Draco's body was destined for Voldemort, the healers made sure there weren't any permanent scars."

"Convenient."

"Convenient?!" the prisoner reached the end of his tether and exploded. "There is nothing convenient about that man or what he is capable of. I saw the damage he did to Draco, and I know what he did to me! I know you think this is all some elaborate scheme to infiltrate the Resistance, but tell me exactly how sending his most valuable asset and the enemy he worked so hard to get back, into the hands of his opposition could possibly benefit Voldemort?!

Draco turned on them because he finally found a reason to fight back, he cared about someone.

Me? -- I am not some stooge, or brainwashed puppet. Yes, I screamed for them to stop, but they didn't, because they didn't care if I broke or not. I was a game: He had no great plan except to play until he got bored and then He was going to kill me.

If you -- are looking -- for more --," Harry's steam ran out as the challenger at the end of the bed split into two.

[Not now!] the young man willed, putting his hand to his head and closing his eyes in consternation; he had a lot more he wanted to tell these pompous twits and he fought the weakness that ran through his body.

His opposition just made the effects worse, and Harry had no choice as he sank into the pillows. The world went black in front of his eyes, but the rest of his senses remained intact, and he heard a flurry of activity. He growled in response to his name, more annoyed than upset by the now familiar interruption, and then someone rang the summoning bell.

Madame Pomfrey didn't bother with the door, and the crack of the apparate spell announced her presence.

"Excuse me," the healer demanded firmly of the others in the room and then her patient felt her fingers on his pulse. "Harry, can you hear me?"

He tried to say yes, but only another, slurred growl came out, and the afflicted man struggled with his feebleness.

"Try to relax, Harry, let it pass," Poppy advised, her palms going to his shoulders and offering support he didn't want. "What happened?!"

"He became agitated," Amelia's strong tones explained calmly.

Harry laughed, or at least he tried to, but it mixed up with a choke as the nausea which came with the attack burnt his throat; he was fed up with everything, and he wanted to yell and scream, and he couldn't even manage that.

"Harry, let it go," his healer's soothing voice told him, but he didn't want to, and his coughing got worse. "Listen to me, Harry, take deep breaths, relax for me, please."

The patient released his anger more out of inability to sustain it than any willingness on his part. Fighting the remainder of the healing magic's side effects was a losing battle, and as his other senses began to follow his sight, Harry took the long gasps that Poppy requested and admitted defeat. The woman's advice halted his descent into oblivion, and, breath by breath, the world came back. The room went gradually from black to silver to normal, and, shivering badly, the young man ended up scowling at Poppy. The others were still in the room, standing back now, but Harry ignored them, concentrating on his carer as she looked for focus in his eyes.

"Alright?" she asked as she judged his return.

Her subject just nodded, and satisfied, the healer rounded on the visitors. Pomfrey was polite, but very clearly in charge as she told them, "I must call this interview to an end."

Amelia glanced once at Harry, whose gaze strayed past his carer's shoulder, and he saw the dissatisfaction in her eyes. However, the look was tempered by something which the young man judged to be concern. The leader accepted the assessment with a nod of her head, and then dismissed her company with, "Thank you for your time, Harry. I hope you are feeling better soon."

Her prisoner ignored her, and just leant forward as Pomfrey released him, placing his head into his hands and waited for them to go away. They left in silence, but even as the door closed, Poppy remained close, her palm on his back. Harry knew he was not going to be allowed to get away with just ignoring his carer, and so, eventually, he sat back up. Her face showed concern, but also a minor reproval as she asked, "What was that all about?"

"Tried to vent some steam," the young man answered, most of his anger having left with his interrogators.

"But the steam vented you," the woman patted him on the arm and smiled sadly. "A large part of magic is emotion and intent, you know that, Harry, you're bound to increase the likelihood of a collapse if you get yourself all worked up."

"How much longer is this going to go on?" the patient asked mournfully.

"A few days. Please try and be patient," his healer responded as Harry made a face. "So much healing at one time is very unusual, and I am more than happy with your progress, but the process cannot be hurried. Staying calm will help as well."

"That's going to be difficult if they come back," the prisoner muttered; Poppy just patted his arm again and then stood up, her face saying she agreed with him, but her professionalism stopping her wording it.

"Sleep is the best healer," she offered sagely.

"I don't think I could right now," Harry decided to be honest.

"Then Neville has informed me that you respond well to offers of cups of tea," Pomfrey smiled.

"Yes -- please," her patient nodded slowly, his enthusiasm muted by the knock to both his ego and his health.

Despite his protestation to the contrary, Harry leant back and closed his eyes as his carer left the room and wearily let himself drift in the greyness between awake and asleep. Awake had become asleep long before anyone could return with tea.


	17. One Push Too Far

A gentle touch on his shoulder woke Harry, and he came back to the world surprised that he had managed to nod off. A small worry at the back of his mind warned him that he had risked returning to his memories, and he was grateful that his carer had woken him for that cup of tea. Pomfrey stood back as her charge sat up, and then leant over to adjust pillows that Harry was confused to find had been in the sleep position. He'd fallen asleep sitting up, and he had been lying down on waking, so maybe he'd been out a bit longer than just the few minutes it took to make tea. There was a trolley behind the body that was helping him sort out his bed: it had to be lunch time. The young man was impressed that he'd made as much as an hour of settled sleep, given the evidence of the night before, that idea gave him some hope that natural rest without potions or mesmerism was possible.

"Good evening, Harry," Poppy didn't just surprise her patient, she shocked him with the totally unexpected time frame.

"All afternoon?" the young man needed confirmation.

"I thought it best to let you sleep through lunch," his healer disclosed with a victorious smile, "but you need to eat more than just breakfast to keep your strength up, so I'm afraid I decided to wake you for supper."

"I didn't know I was that tired," Harry admitted, bemused by the deepness of his sleep.

"Well I don't normally recommend two hours of questioning for my patients," Madame Pomfrey frowned, her disapproval of the morning's events very clear in her steady eyes.

Harry just shrugged, it seemed a long way away given the concept of the blackness in between, and his stomach took priority as he smelt something very delicious coming from the trolley. The cast of his gaze did not go unnoticed by his healer and she smiled broadly as she observed, "I always could rely on your appetite."

Toad-in-the-hole followed by a very large helping of treacle sponge and custard pushed the limits of Harry's stomach, which had shrunk during his incarceration, but he was more than willing to test them with Poppy Pomfrey's encouragement. She had even popped a couple of chocolate frogs onto his tray and made him promise to eat them, stating the healing qualities of good chocolate. The young man was slowly making his way through the first frog, when he was disturbed by a thump on the door.

"Come in," he returned automatically, used to the comings and goings of the medical staff.

However, Harry was surprised for the second time in an hour as he recognised his best friend striding into the room, laden much as Tonks had been two days ago. Ron Weasley greeted enthusiastically, "Evenin', Harry, getting in to see you is like a tri-wizard challenge."

"Only if I'm glad you're coming," the young man returned darkly, as Madame Bones preyed on his mind; Ron stopped at the end of the bed with a quizzical look and Harry decided that the mood wasn't worth ruining the pleasantly unexpected visit, so he shook his head and dismissed with a smile, "Ignore me, just sour grapes."

"Oh, Poppy said you'd had _visitors_ this morning," Ron proved he could catch on fast when he put his mind to it, but he shrugged and just observed, "The Resistance lot can get a bit heavy sometimes. Don't take them too seriously, we don't."

Harry took the camaraderie at face value and pushed aside the heavier thoughts he harboured about Amelia and her hooded subordinates for another time.

"Ron, you're a breath of fresh air," he disclosed and indicated to the edge of the bed.

The red-head needed no more instruction and he threw himself down across the mattress just beyond his companion's feet and carried on, "Everyone sends their love. Hermione's sorry she can't be here, but what with the twins and the Ministry keeping an eye on its employees, she has to spend most nights at the Burrow. She says she'll come visit next time she gets here for a meeting, and she sent this."

Ron took a paperback off the pile of parcels he was still holding and chucked it up the bed; Harry grinned as he read the title, 'Grey Beard: Wizard Pirate of the High Seas', at last, some trashy, escapist reading material.

"Tell her thank you," the patient replied, scooping the book up and placing it in the bedside cabinet.

"And Mum started knitting when she heard you'd got out of Hogwarts with nothing but your wand and a dressing gown," Ron rolled his eyes as he eased out a brown-paper package from the middle of the pile.

Despite his show of disdain, the young man passed the object reverently to his host. Harry knew what this was and he enjoyed the warm feeling in his heart as he accepted the gift from the closest person he had to a mother. He ripped open the squadgy parcel and let another rush of belonging sweep through him as he revealed the jumper inside. Each Christmas he'd been in exile, somehow, Molly Weasley's regular gift to her unofficial son had got through, and it had made the especially lonely time bearable, but the new, fondly created sweater (in green this time) held much greater significance for the recovering adopted-son. He ran his hand over the woollen surface, tracing a red 'H' which was folded upwards, and it didn't matter what was going on around him, Voldemort, The Resistance, nothing mattered but the love between Molly and Harry.

Ron was grinning proudly at the reaction as his friend finally looked back up.

"Tell her I love it," he breathed, pulling it all the way out of the packaging and hugging it to him; he could smell the Burrow on the fibres, cooking and families mixed with the scent of washing powder, and the young man revelled in the wonderful memories he had of long Summer days from his childhood. Harry crumpled up the paper package and stuck it on the side, but he held on to the jumper, not needing to put it on, but wanting the comfort of it close by.

"Dad said you'd know how this works," the red-head continued and passed up a battered-looking piece of plastic, "he said that he worked it so that it doesn't need b-ba-baletries any more?"

"Batteries," Harry snorted as he turned the luridly pink, hand-size object over and recognized a very old-fashioned computer game; its title was emblazoned in yellow, 'Merlin Quest', and there was a 3-position, block-made, black-on-grey figure, which could more or less be identified as a wizard in pointy hat and cloak, bouncing up and down at the bottom of a greyscale lcd screen. "I haven't seen one of these in years," he told his bemused friend, as he played idly with the few buttons which controlled the game, "Dudley used to have loads of them, he'd play them once and get bored, and then of course he got a Game Boy, so these became obsolete."

Ron's face showed that he hadn't a clue about the last reference to Muggle technology, and Harry grinned at him; it wasn't worth explaining, so he just pressed on, "Tell Arthur it'll be fun, thanks."

The young man put the old game on top of the book and returned his attention to his companion. The red-head was already holding out a piece of paper, and his face was sad and happy at the same time as he informed Harry, "Ginny made you this."

Harry took the offering slowly, realising guiltily that in his Draco-obsessed reality he had forgotten the young woman. The folded paper was ragged at one end where it had been torn from a note pad, but the shabby edge dimmed into insignificance as the young man opened the page out. At first he only saw the pale lines of a figure on the stark white background. Harry took a moment to recognise himself, and then bit his lip as he knew what his cursed friend had seen that night in the library. He gasped as the emotion of those minutes came back to him and he was once more the ragged captive who stood in the simple pencil sketch, reaching out in appeal to his discoverer. Yet there was strength in the eyes of the figure in the picture, and it reached out to its subject and gave him the message that Ginny wanted him to have: it didn't matter about the torn, dishevelled outside, beneath her own imperius-controlled surface, the young woman had seen his will to survive.

"How is she?" Harry asked quietly, still enwrapped by the image.

"She didn't talk for a couple of days after Albus lifted the curse," Ron told him, the sadness stronger than the happy in his voice, "she just cried. Minerva has been spending a lot of time with her though, and she's coming through it."

The dark wizard looked up at the conflicted face of his comrade; he could see the joy at having his sister back, but he could also see the grief which her pain caused him.

"She's got spirit, she'll get better," Harry surprised himself by the surety in his voice, and knew he was more certain about Ginny than he was himself.

"Thank you for bringing her out," Ron beat back his sadness with a well of gratitude that was so strong, Harry looked away again.

His eyes went back to the sketch, drawing out the power the girl's talent had put into the image. He lost himself in the eyes for a moment, wondering if he had really shown her that much determination. It made him feel better about himself.

When the young man looked back up again, Ron's fingers were tapping absently at the final object of his pile, a carefully looked-after wooden box that Harry recognised. The red-head took his attention as an opportunity to move on, and his emotions about Ginny were put back inside as he handed up the box and offered quickly, "I don't have much, Poppy banned us from sending more sweets, and I can't knit, but I thought I could loan you these till you get out."

Wizard's Chess: as his fingers closed round the polished oak, Harry could feel the tiny vibrations where the pieces were shifting around in their cases.

"Thanks, Ron," he returned earnestly, and added, "fancy a game now, feels like they could do with a good outing."

"You're on, Mate," the red-head returned, beaming at his success. "They're restless, I haven't had much chance to play lately, been too busy."

Harry slid off the lid and unfolded it to make the board, and Ron rolled the table into position between them. As soon as he'd put box and board down onto the surface, the little figures were standing up and looking around, waiting to be put in place. One knight was having a job controlling his horse, which began making a high-pitched, excited whinnying at the prospect of a game. The young man paused a moment, and narrowed his eyes at his opponent, and with a refreshing challenge in his manner he asked, "Black or white?"

* * *

"Ron!" Harry complained as one of his companion's pawns sidled anxiously into range of the patient's queen, "it's my body that is bashed up, not my brain, you don't have to let me win."

The other man tipped his head to one side and shrugged with an easy grin as he taunted, "Well, after the last game, I thought I'd try to make this one last longer."

"Okay, so I'm a bit rusty," the wizard admitted petulantly, "but the only person who would play chess with me back on the compound was Snape, and I only tried playing him once: we both decided that to avoid wands being drawn we shouldn't do it again."

"So you agree on something then," Ron chuckled.

"The man's insufferable," Harry returned, directing his queen at the pawn anyway as the way she looked up at him said she wanted to do some damage and he agreed with her as he thought about his chilly colleague. "Every time he made a move he'd follow it with some snide comment. He drove me bonkers."

"Well, he's driving us bonkers as well," his best friend agreed, making a pained face. "He always did think he knew everything and what with all the planning for the -," the Auror stopped in mid-sentence, and his face fell; Harry saw the loyalty to a comrade warring with official orders, and he looked away as a gap grew instantly between them. "Sorry, Mate," Ron tried to plug the rift, but it was too late as the safe little conversation fell right down it.

The isolated young man couldn't help the way he felt at the unintentional reminder of his limbo; he was an Auror, he was a damn good Auror and he was stuck in no-man's land: it upset him, and coupled with the rough ride he had had that morning, it made him angry. Ron stopped talking as Harry looked back up, and the red-head was faced with the silent frustration in his companion's eyes.

"I know, I know, you can't tell me because everyone thinks I'm a nutter," the words came out clipped with ire. "Well, it isn't as if it's the first time."

"I don't think you're a nutter," his best friend responded immediately and sincerely.

"Yeah, well in the scheme of things your opinion doesn't cut much wood," Harry accused hotly, his mood blackening even further at the uselessness of the support.

"Mate, you know we're doing everything we can," Ron came back, sympathy in his voice, but an edge of defence beginning to rise as well.

The host could see the storm coming in his oldest companion's eyes, and he goaded it. "We, who's we?" he asked petulantly. "All I get is pronouns and generalities. I don't even know where I am except that the Order and the Resistance seem to pussyfoot around each other when they're here. We used to trust each other!"

"Harry, I do trust you," Ron returned, indignation entering his manner, and he sat up from the easy slouch he was in.

"Funny way of showing it," Harry snarled, crossing his arms and levering open the rift a bit more.

Part of him sat behind his eyes watching in horror as he destroyed the comfortable atmosphere the two had developed in the last hour, but the part of him in control wanted to do some damage, make his best friend see how demoralising his situation was. He didn't want sympathy, or silent understanding, or concern, or the patronising temperance of his keepers, he wanted a fight, and Ron was unlucky enough to be the one present when the need exploded.

"I'm not some battle-battered charity case you're visiting. I don't want pleasantries. I want answers. I want to know what that bastard has been doing to this country and what people are doing about it. Haven't I been out in the cold long enough?!"

Ron stood up, clearly shocked by the mixture of attack and appeal and unable to meet it. Harry reached right for the jugular as he charged, "What am I, Ron, your friend or your enemy?"

"You're my friend, but-."

"But nothing!" the young man finally yelled, Poppy's warnings well and truly forgotten. "I'm fed up of bloody 'buts'! I faced him -- again -- alone, like always and because of it I'm a bloody leper!"

"Harry, calm down," Ron tried to build a bridge, but Harry saw the forced consideration which held back the red-head's temper: his friend wanted to yell too, and it would have been refreshing to have him let go. Yet the responsible nature of his visitor came through above all, and Harry knew he wasn't going to get what he wanted. He glared at the safe target, not caring when Ron's outline tinged with luminescence and warned the patient that he was pushing too far.

"Just get out, will you," the frustrated young man dismissed, and turned his face away; he was determined not to show weakness, anything but more sympathy.

Harry gritted his teeth and held back his emotions as he listened to his companion hesitate and then turn to leave. The door clicked shut. Silence, no sympathy, but no human companionship either. The young man regretted his unfair outburst the instant Ron was gone, but alone, the emotion could only add to the already large bundle of frustration which sat behind everything. He was on the edge of an episode, Harry could feel the creeping weakness waiting for him to push that little bit further: it was the only certainty in his life. With a cry of pure rage, Harry swept his arm across the chess board and embraced the chaos that ensued.

* * *

A bright light cut at his retina and Harry shifted his head sharply to remove the discomfort. As soon as he moved, nausea welled up from his stomach and the afflicted man gagged. More than one pair of hands helped him roll over from where he was lying on his back, and someone placed something below his face as he retched uncontrollably. His whole body shook and Harry could feel the magic running rampant in his system, reacting to the almighty adrenalin rush he had given it. Fear added to the cocktail as the young man realised this was worse than anything he'd incited so far and that he wasn't going to be forgiven so easily. He cried out as everything hurt at once, and then immediately choked as vomit blocked his open airway. He barely felt the slap on the back which cleared it again.

The sickness only stopped as his belly emptied, and Harry coughed as the stomach acid burnt his throat. This was where it should have been over, this was when his experience told the patient he should have relaxed and let the world come back slowly. Yet the magic wouldn't calm down. Harry cried out again as the ghost of every injury that had been healed in the last month came back to haunt him, and his body spasmed against them.

"Harry, try to relax," Neville's calm voice reached his charge, and hands helped him roll back over.

"Hurts," the patient managed before a scream took his coherence away.

Harry convulsed and curled over onto his side as magic clashed with magic and made him pay for his testing of boundaries.

"Where does it hurt?" Pomfrey's voice joined her colleague's, and the woman leant over his agonised form.

"All over."

His skin was burning and sore and his bones throbbed and the young man gasped as his senses were assaulted with pain. He heard his healers conversing, but he was too intent on his own body to make out what they were saying. They moved away and then he heard Poppy call, "Placo et tuto."

Harry convulsed again as more magic flowed into him, but quickly the tendrils of pain softened against the new influence. His muscles relaxed, as out of his control as the spasms had been, and then the touch reached his mind. The magic smothered his thoughts and helplessly, the patient descended into oblivion.

* * *

Harry pushed against the floaty feeling that surrounded him and it gave a little. Groggily, he opened his eyes and looked up through a veil of iridescence. The silken fibres reached through him, touching his mind and body in equal measure, and inspired a tiny feeling of claustrophobia as he realised he was encased in magic. The base fear came out in a weak mew and someone reacted. Harry heard a gasp which sounded like it was outside a tunnel, and then there was a young woman leaning over him, wand in hand. Her face showed concern, but no more and then she disappeared again.

The young man couldn't move, even blinking against the strangely physical strands of magic was an effort and he could see nothing more than the ceiling. He was naked and the vulnerability ran through Harry like he was back in the torturer's cell. He needed to react, to get out of whatever surrounded him and panic began to rise in the trapped man as his body remained held. One thing he could control was his breathing, and his chest began to rise and fall irregularly as his helplessness brought back nasty memories. There was no table at his back this time, in fact he could not feel anything but the soft fibres below him, but still he was ensnared and his fear would not be held back. Desperately, Harry tried to flex against his cage.

"Do not try to move, Mr Potter," Pomfrey's sure instruction returned some perspective to his world, and her patient responded to her with another wordless whine. "You are in a stabilising field," the healer told him, her calm face appearing above him. "Don't fight it, we will have you out in a moment."

Harry tried to calm his emotions as he was given a reason for his condition, but he was still very glad as with a stream of Latin from Pomfrey, he felt the sensation of floating begin to diminish. He started as his bare back first brushed and then sunk onto something solid below him, and then he shivered as the all-encompassing magic dissipated. As air prickled over his skin and caused goosebumps, a blanket was thrown around his body by the woman he had first seen on waking and the young man groaned as, with motor control, came a feebleness that ran right through his being. Still, he closed his eyes a moment and stretched unused muscles. He was reluctant to lift his lids again, and he just accepted the hand which came to rest on his forehead.

"Sleep," Poppy's soothing tones suggested: remembering and trusting the same suggestion from only days earlier, Harry had no objection and drifted back into slumber.

* * *

He stretched again, then shivered delightfully as refreshing prickles ran up and down his body, and finally, Harry opened his eyes. The young man rolled onto his side and looked around; the room hadn't changed, everything was still stacked into the bedside cabinet the way he had left it (except that the chess pieces had been gathered back up into their box), the dressing gown was on the back of the door. He was in his pyjamas, curled into the comfortable bed, and the patient wondered if he had dreamed the magical field. However as Poppy Pomfrey strode into the room with her usual psychic timing, he knew he hadn't dreamed anything. The woman's face showed a consternation that Harry had not seen before, and he knew that he was the source. He stayed huddled on his side and just watched her, deciding that pacifism for once was the best course of action.

"Well, well, Mr Potter," she stopped a few feet from the bed, hands on her hips, even as her voice remained scarily smooth, "back with us at last. Just for your information, I have never known a patient so disruptive to his own treatment. Not only did you manage to put yourself into crisis, you forced your way out of the stabilising field three hours earlier than I intended."

"I'm sorry, won't do it again," Harry returned, his voice stringy and dry.

"No, you won't," Poppy continued the scold. "I kept you under this time until the magic had settled, I was not going to let you hurt yourself again. You would have been under for thirty six hours if you hadn't decided that thirty three was more to your liking. Since you did come out early I want you to sleep for the rest of today; I am not going to have to sedate you for you to do that, am I?"

Harry shook his head, partly because he didn't think he could move anyway, his limbs were lead, but mostly because in this mood, Madame Pomfrey scared him.

"Good," the woman nodded smartly. "Now, you should eat something before you sleep, and then I want not a peep out of you until tomorrow morning, understood?"

The young man nodded earnestly.


	18. A Nightmare's Reward

Sleep was more dozing interspersed with meek submissions to an authoritarian Pomfrey. However, a masterful Poppy Pomfrey was nowhere near as bad as Harry remembered Aunt Petunia to have been when he had had the audacity to be so sick he needed nursing, and he appreciated the concern which rested behind her harsh words, which had never been there with his relative. He also found that with obedience, his healer's edge softened, and he was being coddled by the time evening came around.

Harry was trying to work out how to drink hot chocolate without adjusting his almost horizontal position when his overly attentive carer walked back in. She laughed. The young man made a face at her, but had to conclude that her ridicule was justified. He put the mug back on the table and started to wriggle into at least a half-sitting position. It wasn't as if he couldn't sit up easily, his strength had returned quickly in a most heartening manner over the course of the afternoon, and his healer was not the only one in a good mood. Harry hadn't had a single episode since waking, and he was beginning to hope that at least that part of his tribulations was over.

"Resting does not mean laziness, Mr Potter," Poppy teased lightly.

"I prefer to think of it as being economical with my actions," Harry quipped back.

"Your economy would have had my assistants in here cleaning the bed."

The young man just grinned impishly, his spirits high. However, his companion's smile, although not altogether disappearing, became more professional, and Harry knew this was not just a check-in visit.

"What is it?" he decided to be bold as he retrieved his cup and sipped expectantly.

The healer raised an eyebrow, but answered, "You have a decision to make."

Harry straightened at the seriousness in her voice, and just waited for her to continue.

"I will prescribe dreamless sleep potion for you tonight if you wish," the carer began, her tone unresolved.

"But?" her patient asked, a chill suspicion growing up his spine.

"However, you need to dream, and the longer we suppress your subconscious, the more intense they may be when you do begin to dream again," the woman advised plainly.

"So it would be better if I slept naturally," Harry concluded, and he frowned at the thought.

"Given that you have rested well for the last couple of days, in my opinion, it would be the best opportunity," Poppy clarified, and came close; she laid her hand on her charge's wrist and offered, "We can take this more slowly if you wish."

"No," the young man used his high spirits to create resolve and chose, "if you say this is best, then I trust your judgement."

The woman seemed impressed by her patient's decision, and she smiled supportively.

"Neville will keep a close eye on you, and there will be potion available if you need it."

* * *

Gryffindor common room was draped in black and purple; Harry turned on the spot, staring at the silk-draped walls in disbelief. The designs on the midnight background almost glowed with their power, and the young man felt sick as they spoke to him of dark magic.

"...and this one means 'All honour to the Dark Lord'," Hermione's best instructional tones drew her friend's horrified attention.

However, the girl that Harry found at the source of the voice was not the woman he had met in the ante-chamber at the Ministry. The figure who was stood before a group of younger children was the Head Girl of Hogwarts. Seventeen again, the badge of her position unusually large on her uniform robes, the girl was enwrapped in elucidating the message on one ceiling to floor length drape to her awestruck juniors.

"Hermione?" Harry begged his friend's attention.

He was given barely a glance, and the coolness of the look made him take a step back. The young man couldn't stand to watch as the girl returned her eyes to the wall, and began the tuition again. He pushed away the image of her and cast his gaze away. His heart warmed a little as he found comfort in a grouping of three more friends. Ron, Albus and Minerva were sat in a tight huddle on two large, comfortable sofas, and there was a place waiting for their observer beside his best friend. With relief, Harry threw himself down into the deep cushions and smiled at his companions. The easy conversation that had been going on suddenly became silence, and the young man drew in a deep breath as all eyes were immediately on him.

"Hello, Harry," Albus greeted cordially, his usual unreadable smile in place.

"How are you feeling?" Minerva joined in with the banalities, her tone so false it made her companion cringe.

The flash of teeth that his mentor sent him told Harry that there was something from which he was being kept.

"Anything we can do for you, Mate?" Ron asked, offering out an over-flowing bag of sweets.

"I just wanted to talk," Harry answered, the uncomfortable feeling of being excluded walking up his spine.

"Of course, My Boy," Dumbledore patted his leg and blinked passively over his glasses, "but please understand that questions would be difficult."

Harry sat up straighter, his suspicions being met rather faster than he was expecting. All three people smiled indulgently back at his distaste, and Minerva condescended, "It isn't that we don't care about you, Harry, but we cannot trust you just at the moment."

The young man stood up rapidly, letting his revulsion show. Ron just grinned at him, and with a shrug suggested, "How about a game of chess?"

The red head waved his arm to the left and Harry turned. He was faced with a large chess board crossing the length of the room. However, his blood ran cold as he took in the pieces: they were all the same, tall, deeply hooded figures facing outwards from the centre. There was only one source of warmth in the game; stood within their ranks, staring blankly ahead, his feet planted in both a black and a white square was Draco Malfoy. Harry's hope rose again, and he stepped rapidly onto the board, calling, "Draco!"

An approach was not going to be so easy. Energy lanced up through his body, and with a cry, the young man was thrown backwards. He landed in a dazed heap, but was given no time to recover as the wraiths closed around him, their faceless cowls bending down, crowding his vision.

"Traitor," they spat, "Spy. Turncoat."

"No!" Harry denied immediately, indignation blotting out the stab of fear which the dark anonymity inspired.

"My master is you master," a sibilant voice told the exposed figure, and one of his tormentors held out the tiny form of Vipera.

"No!" he repeated and scrabbled back on his elbows, his heart pounding in his ears at the appearance of his miniature nemesis.

The stone dug at his joints and Harry threw himself onto his stomach as soon as he was clear of the claustrophobic accusers. He pulled himself up against the sofa from which his friends were still watching, their smiles fixed in place. The hooded guards straightened and glided back to their places on the chess board; Draco hadn't moved, hadn't even turned his head, and his eyes were catatonically glassy.

"Draco," Harry moaned, desperate for some support as other foundations crumbled.

"Pups shouldn't whine, should they, Brutus? It's ungrateful," Villainous' derogatory sneer froze his prisoner to the spot.

Harry's breath caught in his throat and he didn't dare turn his head towards the sound.

"No, Pups should learn their lessons," his second gaoler's taunt brought a weakness to Harry's knees.

He knew what was coming, and he looked hopelessly to his friends to stop it. Hermione had her back to him, waving up at the disgusting runes as if they were her life's work. Ron stuffed a chocolate into his mouth and snuggled back into his chair, his arms folded. Minerva just smiled and adjusted her glasses, she seemed slightly embarrassed by having to be there. Albus didn't even seem to notice that his companion was asking for help. Draco was the final hope. Yet the elfin man was a statue, and Harry knew there would be no assistance.

As he heard the crack of the whip, Harry felt the protective presence of clothing disappear from his skin, and he shuddered as the blow came down on his back. He gasped and fell to his knees with the shock, but still no-one moved. The isolation cut through the besieged young man more than the slice of the lash, and he had nothing with which to fight as the second strike sent shudders through his body. He cried out this time.

No-one was going to help him, as he gazed around at his friends, not a single eye met his. Harry's spirit died; he curled over himself and tried to crawl out of range. The whip caught him a few more times and he huddled up against one of the large chairs near the fire, using the arm as partial cover. Yet he was not even allowed that, as his ultimate enemy's voice cut the atmosphere with, "Hello, Harry, does no-one like the little hero anymore?"

The young man just coughed on his pain as another strike took away his senses.

"Don't you understand that there is nothing but you and I anymore? You are my slave, surrender to it and I will remove your pain." Voldemort enticed, yet the voice didn't sound right this time, it was more sibilant than his victim remembered.

"No!" Harry objected hotly: this was not right, this made no sense.

"Give yourself to me, My Enemy," the presence closed around him, but it wasn't just the Dark Lord.

Harry felt his mind begin to swim with the heady presence of Vipera. The captive tensed as the influence pushed into him, at once both the serpent's poison and the tempting offer from his captor.

"Dance with me, My Enemy," the self-amused snake taunted.

Harry put his hands around his head as another cut of the lash split the skin of his shoulder blades.

"Go to hell!" he yelled, weak with the cocktail of pain and venom.

His opponents' laughter filled his mind more than his ears and belittled his fight; Harry screamed.

"...wake up, Harry, wake up!" the urgent voice and shake of his shoulders dragged the young man out of his nightmare.

Harry started violently and his scream died in his throat as his wide, frightened eyes focused on Neville Longbottom's concerned features. The horrified young man grabbed on to the arms that held him, and struggled to drag in breath and return to reality. Voldemort and his pet's sickly touch still hung in his mind, and it took a long moment for him to push the jeering amusement away with his Occlumency training. It had been a long time since the evil man had made it into his dreams, in any form, and the young man put his hand to his forehead as his scar seared at the touch. Yet this wasn't the Dark Lord in the present, this was a memory, strong because of Vipera's venom, but still Harry could not fight the shock of it as easily as he could remove the presence with his conscious mind alert.

"Harry, are you alright?" Neville forced him to pay attention.

He couldn't answer that, and a little panic ran through the shivering man's system as he realised that he was crouched in the corner of his room, and not safely in bed.

"Harry, speak to me," his healer requested.

"I -- I, how did I get here?" the patient answered haltingly, unable to stop his shaking.

"I hoped you could tell me that."

"I -- I was in the common room," Harry admitted, his fear in his voice.

"Alright," Neville turned instantly into the complete professional and he decided, "enough is enough, I'm prescribing d.s.p."

"No," the young man felt the failure immediately. However he met the determination in his friend which had made him a Gryffindor, and Neville's face told him that he did not have a choice.

"You've woken twice tonight already, and your anxiety is making things worse than they need to be. Don't try and fight this all in one night, you must rest as well," the stocky carer argued. "Now lets get you back to bed."

Harry was not in any condition to argue, and he capitulated when his companion hauled him to standing and led him carefully back to the mess of sheets and blankets that was his bed. He sat down meekly on the edge of the mattress and Neville rested his arms either side of him as he had done a few nights earlier.

"Take some deep breaths," he advised smoothly.

The patient obeyed, placing himself completely in his healer's charge, using the present to push away the remnants of his nightmares. He forced his shoulders to relax with each outlet of air, and finally stared blankly at his companion.

"Are you alright?" Neville repeated.

Harry nodded; he was feeling far from alright, but as he settled, he could not word the ghost of Voldemort/Vipera in his mind which was causing most of his tremors. His friend took the reply at face value, standing back a little and drawing his wand. His look said he wasn't really satisfied, but Harry was glad when he didn't ask for details.

"Accio potion," Neville intoned, and held out his hand.

Harry closed his eyes and admitted defeat. He had lost to the nightmares for tonight and he couldn't help the sense of failure that accompanied the submission to magical help. Neville was calm and a welcome presence as he just waited for the pique to pass. He was smiling encouragingly as his friend opened his eyes again. He didn't offer any more words, the healer just passed his charge the waiting beaker. It wasn't as large as a full night's dose, a few hours, and Harry drank the prescription wordlessly. Then he just curled over and let it do its work.

* * *

The perspective of the day calmed both Harry's sense of failure and the chills of the nightmares. He lay in bed mulling over the events of the dark hours with a more objective perspective, dragging his Occlumency training into play as he analysed the images. He had to admit that Neville had been right about his present anxieties making the dreams worse. The first two nightmares had been much the same as the last, memories of torture and subjugation mixed with a strong loneliness. They were not difficult to decipher, and the young man hoped that at least the isolationist aspect of them would dim with the decisions about his future on which he waited. The patient chose not to dwell on the obvious images, instead he picked out the one angle of his mind's tricks which had taken until the last dream to come forward: little Vipera. The strength of the memory bothered him; the serpent's touch had been so vivid it made the young man wonder if it was still with him. Voldemort had only been playing when he had tried to break into his victim's mind with his precious snake (Harry was almost sure); he had to have known Harry would not 'dance' with his pet, and yet her hypnotic suggestions still hung in his subconscious.

It was this consideration which held a frown on Harry's face when his day-shift healer entered the room. He glanced towards the door, and her smiling face straightened at his grimness. The young man felt immediately guilty and he sat up, as though his good health could make up for his lack of good humour.

"Morning," he greeted, his tone still a little stern, but Poppy saw his intention, and guessed his motivations well enough.

"Good morning, Harry," she returned, and disclosed sagely, "don't worry too much about last night, it was bound to be intense after so long on d.s.p."

Harry nodded, and then decided to try and get to the bottom of his fears as he asked, "How long does a snake's venom stay in the system?"

Madame Pomfrey seemed somewhat taken aback by the question, and she paused, a contemplative look on her features. There was a minor concern in her voice as she asked, "Was this a magical snake."

The young man accepted the transfer from theoretical to actual and nodded again.

"The snake that Gerald reported from your memory?"

"Voldemort created her. She caused pain, but she also tried to make me turn, her venom was hypnotic," Harry admitted, letting his worry show on his face. "She was very strong in my last nightmare, and I was wondering if the venom could still be affecting me."

At that, Poppy shook her head immediately, and told him definitely, "I purged your system of all residual magic, any venom would have been removed at the same time. Anything you are experiencing is coming only from your own thoughts."

Her patient sighed, and smiled weakly as most of his fears were allayed. He still had to deal with the memories, but they could be put away for a few hours.

"Well," his healer began again, her smile returning, "I think it is a real turn up for the books that you are concentrating on cerebral things, it means I can be confident when I do this."

The woman drew her wand and aimed it at the wall to the left of the bed.

"Manifesto!"

Harry's eyes widened as a door slowly appeared where only wall had been. It was a very ordinary-looking door, much the same as the one into the corridor, and the young man had to wonder why it had been hidden. Poppy grinned at his questioning look and informed him, "This room is an isolation room, and as such has its own modest bathroom. I thought it best to keep its existence from you until such time as I deemed you fit enough to use it, because, as I have said before, I have known you too long to trust that you would have let it be."

Her patient would have pouted at the minor jibe, but he was too enthused by the revelation. Magical cleansing was all very well, it was efficient, and convenient for a bed-ridden patient, but as with a lot of magic, it lacked the satisfaction that the long way could bring. The thought of real soap and water made Harry's skin tingle expectantly, and he would have jumped out of bed there and then if he hadn't been fixed by a patented Poppy Pomfrey warning stare. He forced himself to settle and looked across at her innocently.

"Yes, I can see the look in your eyes, Mr Potter," the healer intoned seriously, but her own gaze was sparkling, "but I don't want you dashing around this room like the over-excited schoolboy that you obviously are. Take it slowly: a gentle shower before breakfast will do you good, but do not lock the door, and call if you need anything. You are not one hundred percent yet, and I'm sure you agree with me when I wish your health to continue improving."

Harry nodded earnestly.

"Alright then," Poppy seemed satisfied, "as I said, gently, and I will have some fresh pyjamas laid out for you, put the others into the linen bin you find inside."

"Thank you," her patient returned sincerely and earned himself a warm smile.


	19. The Art Of Compromise

Harry rubbed his hair absently with the towel and wandered over to the window while chewing on a piece of toast. There wasn't much to see outside, as screens had been rolled in front of the glass, blocking off the ward of which the patient had only ever caught glimpses. However, he put aside the thought of the newly introduced barriers, it was the sheer ability to make it confidently to the edge of his domain without fear of falling which led the young man, and he smiled to himself. Poppy would have frowned, he knew it, but now there was at least some reliable power back in his limbs he wanted to use it, and even though he'd begun breakfast sat in the chair, he'd been wandering for most of it.

He stared at the floral fabric of the screens for the umpteenth time and then turned and headed for the bed. He grabbed the table on the way past and rolled it with him and then settled on the edge of the mattress. He put down the towel, reached for the pirate book, and then pulled his legs up under him so that they disappeared into the folds of his dressing gown. He opened the novel, and with his breakfast in easy reach, began to read.

'Grey Beard: Wizard Pirate of the High Seas' was badly written, horrendously plotted and so over the top that it was fantastic. Hermione really knew her books, and the action adventure yarn dragged Harry right out of reality. He barely had two words for the assistant who came to collect the breakfast things, as he sailed the oceans with the dashing hero and his arch enemy.

After the somewhat dry or inappropriate reading material on which the young man had been surviving, the escapism of the novel made hours disappear. And none of his carers disturbed him. Therefore, it was a recognisable rap on the door which brought Harry back from the West Indies; he came down to earth with a thump as his mind told him the owner. Amelia Bones was on the other side of that door, and her captive's heart fell. Not more interrogation? Still, he was feeling a lot better, and so the young man put down his book, drew up his shoulders and decided that he could now finish what he'd been trying to say a few days earlier.

"Come in," he called, getting to his feet as the door opened.

He stood by the bed and met his visitor's gaze as the formidable lady walked in. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a mild admiration in the woman's eyes: it confused him, so Harry greeted cordially, "Good Morning, Amelia."

"Harry, good to see you up and about," his guest returned, and Harry had the feeling she was being genuine.

The pleasantries ended there, because Madame Bones was followed into the room by four people; one was in the disconcerting hooded disguise of the prominent resistance, a man given his stature and bearing; the next was a welcome sight, Albus Dumbledore calm and composed as always; after him came Poppy, looking as nonplussed as Harry was feeling and her reason, among others he could guess, was the person who came after her. He was not someone Harry had expected to see again, and his feelings were mainly acrimonious as he laid eyes on Gerald Hippus. The healer was not the relaxed figure his one-time patient remembered, but Harry's instant guilt over what had passed between them was alleviated somewhat as he gauged that the wreck he had seen leave his room had only been temporary. That left mostly a pot of anger at the man's part in his own demise, and Harry glared at Gerald as he came into the room. To his credit, Hippus met the hard stare directly, his eyes mournful, although he remained silent.

"Harry," Amelia took charge as the door closed behind the five visitors, and commanded her host's attention; he dragged his eyes away from the silent confrontation, but did not settle his hostility, and the woman saw it. "Gerald agreed to come today, because I asked him to do so. I appreciate that both of you must be uncomfortable with this meeting, and this should not take long, but I thought it best that a representation of all those involved should be here."

Amelia Bones was not taking objections, and so Harry decided to stay focused on her. He nodded his assent for politeness rather than anything else, and she smiled firmly at his coolness.

"Shall we all sit down?" Albus broke the forming ice with a wave of his wand, and Harry returned to the bed as the others made their way to a variety of seats the old wizard dotted around the room.

Amelia moved on as soon as her colleagues were seated. "Firstly, Harry, may I apologise for my and my people's part in the stress which led to the crisis which took you away from us again. In hindsight, given your condition, we were premature in our request for information."

Harry took a moment to assimilate the apology as he hadn't been expecting it. He'd placed the blame for his second submersion in the stabilising field squarely at his own feet, and he glanced at his healer. The protective look in Pomfrey's gaze, and the slight nod told the young man that she agreed with Amelia, despite the harsh scolds she had dished out in private. He wasn't sure how to take the gesture given the defensive feelings the presence of her hooded subordinate were inspiring, and so he was swiftly and awkwardly polite with a 'thank you'. Madame Bones did not seem too happy with his noncommittal response, and disclosed, "I would rather that there be no animosity between us."

"Yes, well you'll forgive me if I can't be as objective as you," the young man returned, his civility clipped by his anxiety, "but you weren't the one who was interrogated non-stop for hours. I would rather we were on the same side."

"I will not apologise for our methods, we have to be careful," Amelia held her decorum far better than her subject.

"Just don't expect me to like it then," Harry continued the exchange, knowing that his temper would get the better of him if he wasn't careful, but wanting to make his point. "I think I already made it clear what I thought of your theories regarding my escape."

"We are inclined to agree with you," the interruption came from an unexpected source, the faceless hood, whose voice Harry recognised as the man who had stood at the end of his bed; Amelia seemed momentarily surprised by the interjection, but her colleague covered well and continued, "Ma'am, with your permission, I think we should come to the point."

Madame Bones nodded, and the man reach up to his hood. Harry felt his hostility seeping away as he realised what his opponent was about to do. Dark-skinned hands appeared from the heavy sleeves and pushed back the shadowy cowl. The watcher was not expecting dreadlocks, but then he didn't really know what he was expecting, except maybe a Dementer. Harry's surprise was treated to a wide, open smile and all threat disappeared as the man introduced himself, "I am Malcolm Jordan, you know my nephew, Lee. I am happy to be finally introducing myself properly. I run this base, which is why I can reveal my identity, since you will be seeing me around."

"Seeing you around?" the captive picked up on the tone with which the message was delivered, and dared to hope.

Malcolm looked to his superior for clarification, and it seemed that the rest of the room was also going to defer to the woman, so Harry returned his attention to Amelia. She smiled again at her subject's lowering shields and disclosed, "I have been taking reports from all quarters about you, Harry, and as is only fair, I must share my findings with you. Professor Dumbledore, would you like to go first."

Albus had provided himself with a rocking chair, and he looked very sage in the corner where he had placed himself. He nodded to Amelia and then turned to his friend and told him, "Madam Bones asked me to provide both my personal and magical opinion of you, Harry. I am gratified to have been able to state categorically that you are under no kind of magical influence that I can detect. And as a friend, well you know my thoughts, since we have discussed them; your return to us and your recovery is more than I could have hoped for, and in that I recognise the contribution of Draco Malfoy."

Harry took in a deep breath as so much was said in so few words. The old wizard had made his stance very clear, and the young man knew he had at least one ally in the room. He didn't so much care about his companion's professional opinion, although it settled any niggling fears that the Resistance could have been right about the escape, it was the way in which Albus had very precisely placed himself not only behind Harry, but also behind Draco. There was no doubt in Harry's mind, as he regarded his rock, that Professor Albus Dumbledore had made up his mind about the unknown quantity that was his lover, and that his decision had been favourable.

Amelia did not seem quite so happy about the mention of Draco, and her face suggested that there had been words exchanged between the two formidable people about him already.

"Thank you, Professor," the woman concluded and then looked to Poppy, "Madame Pomfrey."

The healer had her sternest face on, but she softened a little as she glanced at her charge. Harry knew he already had her support, and he smiled at her. The ghost of something sat behind her eyes, and she looked away, back to Amelia, as she began, "The bulk of Harry's injuries had already been healed when he arrived in my care. However, from the magic still in his system it became swiftly obvious how extensive the healing had been, and how unstable it was. From what Mr Malfoy told us, that the healing had been done without the normal p-pain prevention charms," and then Harry knew what the phantom was as Poppy barely held back her revulsion; he found the mattress suddenly very fascinating as he realised the depth of feeling that his healer felt about what his captors had done, but he had to listen to the strain in her voice as she continued, "I concluded that the healing had been performed too quickly and without due care. I placed Harry into a stabilising field in order to bring the healing under control. He is now free of the magic and should have no ill effects, he just needs to regain his strength."

The patient looked back up as his healer finished, but he couldn't catch her eye as her glance fell to her hands in her lap. Amelia was not immune to the discomfort in her colleague and so with a assessment of Harry's reaction, continued swiftly, "Thank you, Madame Pomfrey. Now, Healer Hippus, could you summarise your report for us, please."

Harry's self-protective instinct had guided him into just ignoring Gerald's presence. However, his hackles came back up a way as he was forced to acknowledge the still figure to his right. His trust had been betrayed, whether intentionally or not, and the young man could not hide his antagonism toward his guest. Gerald, it appeared, was equally unhappy at having attention drawn to himself, and shifted awkwardly in his chair at his one-time patient's heavy glare. However, he drew in a deep breath and straightened his shoulders as he took his cue from Madame Bones. He nodded to her and then did something Harry was not expecting, he met his stare and began, "I am so sorry for the unnecessary trauma I put you through. My good intentions outweighed my judgement, and I failed you."

Harry didn't have a response as the healer paused; he was angry, but it didn't feel right to let it all out after such a heartfelt apology, and that just made him more annoyed, because it was easy to yell, it wasn't easy to be understanding. The young man chose the middle ground, his tone holding some accusation in it as he asked, "So what did you make of my mind?"

"Resilient," Gerald responded as though he had already spent a lot of time deciding on his words.

His patient laughed humourlessly, unimpressed by the observation. Still he confirmed coolly, "So I'm not crazy then."

"Far from it," Hippus seemed almost offended by the suggestion. "I know we only had a limited time together, Harry, but I am very sure that you are certainly not, to use the vernacular, crazy. Your Occlumency training aside, you have a very strong will and sense of self. You always make up your own mind, and you will go a long way to back up that opinion."

"Are you saying I'm stubborn?" Harry smirked, again not really amused, just teasing the professional in Gerald.

"Very!" the man surprised him with his directness, and Harry had to warm a little to his spirit.

Hippus saw him relax, and seemed heartened by it, he leant forward and continued with more verve, "I believe you developed your self-reliance as a child due to the neglect of your aunt and uncle."

Harry raised an eyebrow: that wasn't a difficult conclusion.

"However, also due to the lack of parental love and pride in your upbringing, you have a desire to please, which is mainly demonstrated in your sense of duty."

The young man found himself focusing on the observations, not comfortable, but interested. Gerald seemed to be talking directly to him now, no-one else mattered.

"Childhood was a lonely time for you, you do not make close friends easily, but when you do, your loyalty to them comes above everything else."

The healer glanced at Amelia, and Harry knew he was referring to Draco much more than anyone else; however, his loyalty, which the woman clearly felt was misplaced, still made him feel cosy inside. His heart ached as he thought of his lover: he wanted to see him, soon, and he hoped the revealing of Malcolm's identity was a good sign towards that end. He dragged his mind back from the image of the blond man in his thoughts as Gerald continued, and his face was serious as he brought his subject back to him with his name, "Harry, your strengths have helped you to endure the last month, but you are still showing signs of the stress that you have been under. It is only natural that your self-control is less than you expect it to be: you have been surrounded by terrible extremes of emotion and experience and it will take time for your sense of perspective to settle. Hence, although I will say now that I admire your courage and your resilience, I would recommend that you return to active duty only after an extended period of rest."

Harry felt his temper rising again at the conclusion, and he objected, "How long is extended? There's a war on; Poppy has seen to my body, and I can sort my head out in my own time!"

"I have taken all opinions into consideration, Harry," Amelia cut him off before his anger could get out of hand; Harry bit his tongue and thought about seeing Draco.

[Only a few more hoops,] he thought coldly, and forced back the pique.

"Malcolm."

It was the dark-skinned man's turn to meet his subject's eye-line, and he did it with a steady, contemplative gaze.

"Firstly, I will agree with Gerald, in admiring your resilience, Harry," Malcolm began clearly, "you gave the three of us a run for our money. We aimed to test you on several areas. The most obvious I will admit was our attempt to establish if your escape was any kind of subversion on His part, either with or without your, or Draco's consent. As I said earlier, we now agree with you that it most probably wasn't, since He could gain no benefit from it."

So he wasn't a spy; however irked he had been by such a suggestion, Harry was glad that the suspicion had been diminished. His good sense told him not to push the 'probably' in Malcolm's disclosure, he was dealing with very careful people, and he knew it wouldn't get him very far. Instead, he let the chilly mask slip a little and hoped he showed his colleague that he appreciated the vote of confidence. Malcolm smiled at him again, not so wide this time, he was dealing with serious material, but Harry was getting the same sincerity vibes off the man as he had off their superior.

"Your opinions on the Ministry are much the same as many," the assessment continued, and there was a glint in Malcolm's eye as he added, "and your motives are always your own, which, when it comes down to it, I would say is our only issue with you."

Harry frowned, unsure what the man meant, since his body language suggested that he admired the trait, despite his words.

"You are a good Auror, Harry," Malcolm continued, "I am familiar with your work before the exile, and the evacuation of the children from Hogwarts was nothing short of miraculous. I am also aware of what happened once the children were safe, and your attitude towards the Ministry is more than understandable. However, you have been out of the loop for three years, and it would take time to integrate anyone who has been away for so long. I will also warn you that, you will face resentment over it from those who do not know all the facts."

The young man looked down at his hands feeling illogically guilty and defensive about his position.

"Harry, don't be disheartened by this," the resistance member drew back his subject's attention with his emphatic words, "our recommendation is that you should be reintegrated into active service."

Harry let his hope show as the carrot was dangled in front of him; yet the atmosphere in the room told him that Malcolm hadn't finished.

"There's a but coming," he worded his concern plainly and watched as the dark-skinned man glanced at his superior.

Amelia was in observation mode, and she raised an eyebrow as she looked from her subordinate to Harry and back again. She merely nodded for Malcolm to proceed. The young man focused back on his judge, and with a little disappointment, he saw the confirmation of the conditional in his colleague's eyes.

"Yes, there is a but," Malcolm nodded slowly. "As I said, our only issue with you is your strong personal opinions, more specifically, your faith in those you consider to be your friends."

"Draco," Harry worded the point for him, trying to sit on the hostility which still came partly through his manner.

Harry could understand these people's concerns, only a few short weeks ago, Draco had proved himself to be a dangerous, unstable enemy, and yet he wanted them to see the changes in the blond that he himself had seen. He glanced around at all eyes, and the only pair that gave him any hope was Albus' calm gaze. Harry took comfort in the support he saw there, and smiled thinly at his old headmaster.

"Draco," Malcolm agreed. "You will forgive us if we are not so trusting of him as you appear to be."

"I suppose I will have to be," the young man returned with a resigned shrug, feeling safer and less aggressive now he had Dumbledore behind him. "So how does this affect my situation?"

"We cannot trust you with your allegiances split between us and Draco Malfoy," Malcolm was nothing if he wasn't direct.

Harry just nodded and looked back at his hands; it didn't matter that what had been said was very logical and pragmatic and sensible, it still hurt. He took some time to bolster his ego against the disclosure, remaining focused on the covers as Amelia began a summary, "Harry, we have discussed all our opinions and concerns and it has been agreed that, once you are declared fit, you will be given the freedom of this base as long as you are escorted. As they have been standing watch over your door, the members of the Order of the Phoenix have volunteered for the duty. Madame Pomfrey has offered this room for as long as you require it, and it will be secured when you are in here. I am sorry that we cannot be more liberal with you, but until our decisions are made about Mr Malfoy, your loyalty to him raises too many concerns. Do you have anything you wish to add, Harry?"

Finally, Harry returned his gaze to Madame Bones. Her look said she was concerned by his silence, but the young man took his time assimilating the information. The judgement was fair, he could understand the decisions that had been made, but it all still niggled in the part of himself that worked on emotion. He wasn't crazy, he wasn't a spy, but he was still a captive, that thought made him cold, as if someone had placed ice around his shoulders. Yet it wasn't all bad, he was finally going to find out where he was, be allowed to see further than this room, and his friends would be around him. Three long years in exile had taught him patience, he could wait for trust to form again, and Harry pushed away the tempting loneliness of the prisoner as he nodded his consent to the plans which had been laid for him.

"How long until you decide about Draco?"

Amelia's face said that she had been expecting the question, but that she was disappointed by it anyway. She drew in a breath, and then her lips pursed for a moment before she answered, "This is not the forum for a discussion about Mr Malfoy. Please be patient, as I have said, we are careful, that is how we survive."

Harry didn't have anything else to say: now judgement had been made on himself, his concern had shifted to his lover and he could recognise a brick wall when he saw one and so he stayed silent. Madame Bones also recognised that the meeting was over, and she stood up. Her lead was taken by all as she finished, "Thank you for your time, Harry. I hope to see you fully fit in the near future."

"Thank you, Ma'am," the young man chose his form of address out of instinct, as his politeness brought him to his feet.

He was surprised when a hand was stuck out towards him, and he took a couple of seconds to take it. The shake was firm, and Harry realised that he'd just sealed a bargain of which he hadn't really been aware. Amelia smiled sincerely and then turned to leave. Malcolm nodded and dismissed himself with, "See you again, Harry."

Harry produced a watery smile, unsure what emotion was behind it. However, Hippus wiped that away as he said a quiet goodbye. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forgive the man for his mistake, and he just watched carefully as the healer turned and followed Malcolm out of the door.

Poppy and Albus did not move to leave immediately, instead they approached the bed, and Harry sat down again, feeling a little winded by the whole encounter.

"How about a nice cup of tea?" his healer offered warmly.

"Please," her patient responded breathily, recognising that this was the perfect time for the very British remedy.

"Thank you, Poppy, that would be lovely," Dumbledore agreed.

Harry watched as his two remaining visitors shared a look. The young man wasn't sure what was in the glance, relief or concern, or maybe it was both.

"Give me two ticks," the woman replied with a light smile, and headed to the door.

However, Harry got the feeling she might be gone a few more minutes than it took for her wand to heat the kettle. The patient watched his healer go, and then turned his attention fully to his final guest. Albus was stood a few feet away, his hands clasped together in front him and he looked very much like the wise old man Harry had come to love. Yet, in the light of day, Harry was feeling braver than the last time he had spent in his friend's company, and he decided to address that very issue.

"Thank you for watching my dreams, Albus."

The ancient wizard bowed his head slightly as he accepted the gratitude and smiled sadly as he returned, "I cannot say that it was a pleasure, My Boy, but I am glad that I could help." Then he continued swiftly, "And how are you feeling?"

"Standing up without falling over is a real bonus," Harry quipped with a shrug, but added as he realised he was skirting the real question, "It would have been nice to be accepted, but I always manage to do something that makes things awkward."

"You are who you are, Harry," Albus returned, seating himself slowly into the chair Amelia had vacated, as his newer creations disappeared. "Your honesty is the reason that you have been given the freedom discussed. Amelia is not an easy woman to impress, but you may be proud that you succeeded in so doing."

Harry smiled, aware that such praise did not come lightly from his companion. He was determined to look on the bright side, and he pulled his legs back up onto the bed, relaxing into a less formal cross-legged position and observed ironically, "Okay, so now all I have to do is impress Poppy with my return to health, and I think that is going to be even more difficult."

Dumbledore allowed himself an indulgent snort as Harry made a face and confirmed knowingly, "I would tend to agree."


	20. Life Begins

Harry was so used to the dribble of visitors that Poppy had been allowing into his room, that he was surprised when he received a second onslaught of guests after lunch. Madame Pomfrey, it was clear, had decided that with his returning fitness, her patient needed greater distractions, and a game of chess against himself, which, to his chagrin, the young man found he was still losing, was interrupted by most of his friends descending on his room. Tonks came in first, dragging a reluctantly grumpy Mad-Eye. The metamorphmagus was followed by Remus and Minerva, and then Ron came in with a bright wave, his last encounter with his best friend absent from his grin. Bringing up the rear, his hands folded behind his back in the same chilly way that he had run his classroom, Harry was surprised to see Severus Snape.

"Well, well, Potter, even when alone, your chess game is lacking imagination," the cool man did not miss the chance for comment as his sharp eyes surveyed the pieces.

"I thought we'd agreed not to discuss chess, Severus," Harry returned, wondering idly why his sparring partner had bothered to come, but finding it oddly amusing. "You know what happened last time."

Severus smiled, a very dangerous expression, and his eyes flashed easily as he observed, "But this time you appear to have misplaced your wand."

The dig didn't make it very far: Harry had a thick skin when it came to Professor Snape and he quipped right back, "Yes, but my throwing arm is still accurate."

The oily man raised an eyebrow, and he would have continued the word play had it not been for Minerva McGonagall.

"Gentlemen, please," she interrupted sharply, the school ma'am in her tone, "No fighting, lest we are thrown out before we have really arrived."

Snape and McGonagall glared at each other, as they had done many times before, both at school and afterwards, when it came to their opposing opinions of Harry Potter. However their source of consternation was having none of it; he drew them out of the silent confrontation with a broad grin and, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Well, we were all at this meeting," Tonks decided to fill him in as she took her now favourite spot on the left of the bed, "and when Albus said that you would probably be allowed more visitors now, we all decided to come down and see if he was right."

Harry laughed, and invited, "Since you obviously were right, I suggest someone makes seats, because there isn't enough room on the bed."

Remus saw Minerva to the permanent chair before making himself a modest armchair next to hers. Severus created a stiff, high-backed wooden thing that looked less than comfortable on the opposite side of the room. Ron threw himself down on the remaining space at the end of the bed. Moody was the only one still on his feet, and he announced gruffly, "I'll stand."

His host smiled evilly at his guest and challenged, "What's the matter, Mad-Eye, still don't trust me?"

The Auror straightened at the blatant taunt, his face showing badly stifled surprise; he wasn't comfortable with all eyes on him, but he didn't back down as he replied, "You've developed an edge, Harry."

"I always had one, I just used to bite my tongue more often," Harry returned glibly, "Now sit down, will you?"

The directness worked, and the young man was more than satisfied as Moody's expression went from concerned to vaguely amused. The man still hrmphed as he created himself a folding stool and sat down with a force which threatened to break it. He folded his arms across his chest, but Harry just beamed at the hostility, knowing that it was for show and wouldn't last for long.

"You certainly seem to have some energy back," Lupin observed with a contemplative smile.

"And it feels great!" Harry agreed buoyantly. "Nothing hurts and I'm mobile."

The young man resisted the urge to uncurl from his comfortable slouch on the bed and demonstrate, instead he settled for an exuberant wave of his arms.

"Good to see you better, Mate," Ron joined in. "How long till you get the all clear?"

Harry shrugged: he knew he wasn't back up to his normal fitness, but that was going to take time and effort after a month of near starvation and brutality, and he hoped that Poppy would pronounce him at least fit enough to leave the room as soon as possible.

"You'll have to ask Poppy," he replied easily, "I've tried emotional blackmail, but she won't commit to a time frame."

That drew a smile from everyone except Snape, who merely watched proceedings with his normal aloof derision. Harry was very aware of being observed by the cold individual, but he chose to ignore the attention.

"So," he pressed on eagerly, "since I'm going to be getting out of here soon, are you lot allowed to tell me where I am?"

The young man found himself following a consensus of eye-lines over to Minerva, and the woman was smiling knowingly.

"Harry, this base is known as Hogwarts Tutus," the professor surprised him. "When Albus, Ron and I were declared dead, we chose to set up somewhere for others for whom it was not safe to remain in the open."

"It wasn't very big at first," Ron added, and his tone was half sad, half proud as he continued, "but since this bloody fight has gone on, more and more people have been coming here. Whole families have had to disappear because they've offended our great and glorious dictator."

"We've had to move twice, because the place has been full," Tonks jumped in next. "The whole Order would have had to spend their whole time running it if we hadn't got the Resistance involved. Now Malcolm does all the day to day organisation, supplies and all that, and it leaves Albus and Minerva free to focus on the school and the Order."

"School?" Harry was incredulous; he, like all his fellows in exile, had thought that there had been a successful ban on educating young wizards and witches except for those in the Death Eater Youth ranks.

"You didn't think we would leave our next generation defenceless, did you, Harry?" Minerva smiled at him with a glow of defiance in her eyes, and a little more of the bleak Britain that Voldemort had created burst back into life for the returning prodigal. "We are, of course, much smaller than Hogwarts used to be, but we have a full contingent of teachers in the core subjects."

"This is just fantastic," the young man returned warmly, and added wistfully, "I can't believe I missed all this."

"But you have been doing a fine job playing the plucky figurehead," the cold slice came from Severus.

Harry glared at him, his cheeks becoming hot at the jibe. Snape's level gaze blazed back at him, something hidden below the animosity that he was openly displaying. Yet Harry was getting good at spotting the weakness below any of his adversaries' shells, and he snarked, "Look, did you come here just to make me feel bad, or did you want someone to join in your left-out feeling?"

For some reason, that drew a nasty smirk from his opponent, and Harry realised he had walked into something. He gritted his teeth.

"I believe the only person who was, as you say, 'left out', was you, Potter," Severus sneered, victory in his eyes. "You didn't have to be hospitalised for us not to trust you."

"Severus!" Minerva reprimanded, but the man fell silent anyway, his task, as far as he was concerned, complete.

Harry smarted with the scathing suggestion, but he was not going to take it meekly.

"I don't give a damn what you think, Severus, you take after your ex-Master when it comes to small-mindedness," the young man cut right back and saw the instant damage done in his opponent's face.

Snape stood up, his chair disappearing as without another word he swept around on the spot and headed for the door. Harry watched his retreat with singular satisfaction, and it was only as the door closed with a slam that the echo made him realise that silence had fallen.

"Why did he come?" the young man filled the dazed stillness and randomly picked Remus on which to lay the question.

"None of us are privy to the workings of that man's mind," the werewolf responded with a shrug.

"He was working with you all the time, wasn't he?" Harry realised why he had picked Remus as he barrelled on, his resentment at the idea coming through his words.

"He was not important enough to warrant the kind of close-protection the Ministry afforded you," the answer came honestly as the blond man seemed prepared for the accusation, "and he kept his ear to the ground for us. As such, Severus had a limited knowledge of what was going on here."

"He was just being a bastard, because he found out how much he didn't know when he got here," Ron provided his loyal opinion.

"But he did risk his life when coming with Remus to try and warn us what the Ministry had planned for you," Minerva cut through the atmosphere with her quiet, sincere disclosure.

Harry blinked at her as his anger disappeared in confusion and a pang of guilt at how harsh he had been. He accepted the woman's reproving stare, which he knew would be dealt out equally to Snape when she next saw him, and admitted, "I'm never going to understand that man."

"No, well then maybe you should refrain from casting judgment."

Harry resisted the instinct to say 'Yes, Professor', or to whine 'But he started it', in favour of a non-committal frown. Minerva just maintained her position for a moment, and then nodded to herself as if she'd seen something in a student that satisfied her reprimand.

"Hey, Harry," Tonks charged in as soon as the moment was over, "you know you must be getting better if Minerva has stopped crying and has gone back to scolding you."

The young man laughed as his friend ruffled at the very successful taunt. She glared a moment at Tonks, but then her sense of humour caught up with her and a smile began to play at the edges of her mouth.

"Nymphadora," McGonagall teased back, and Tonks squealed at the use of her first name, "just remember with whom you are trying to spar."

"Pax," the younger woman returned instantly, ducking behind Ron and turning her hair scaredy-cat white.

Minerva grinned triumphantly at the easy victory and everyone else just laughed, including Tonks. Harry let the laughter run, and decided that he'd had enough of any form of verbal sparring, so he reached over to his cabinet and offered, "Anyone for chocolate?"

There were murmurs of approval from several quarters, so Harry set about getting the box from the bottom of the pile of stuff in the jam-packed bedside locker. He began pulling out the various magazines and books and gifts he'd been collecting.

"Maybe you should do some clearing out," Ron suggested as the pile beside him on the bed grew.

"Nah, it's just my way of keeping the chocolate to myself," Harry quipped back, "you'll all get bored and go before I get to the bottom."

"Not likely!" his best friend returned and leant in to help retrieve the sweets. "That box is ours."

"Give it up, Potter."

Harry glanced up as the words came out of Tonks' mouth, and caught his companion moving rapidly towards him. Without warning, the words were no longer hers, and the mass of white hair belonged to his memories. Lucius Malfoy was again demanding surrender and the prisoner was dragged instantly into a recollection of his enemy advancing on him. He saw the angry fist coming at him; the captive ducked and yelled his defiance at his tormentor.

Reality came back as quickly as it had flipped out, and Harry found himself flattened against the head of the bed, the chocolates scattered on the covers in front of him and five worried faces staring at him.

"Damn," he sighed, any left-over emotions mixing with embarrassment when he looked round at all the eyes on him.

He could find no more words as he tried to relax and let his heart beat settle down.

"You alright, Mate?" Ron broke the stunned silence with his concern.

"Nothing a strong Obliviate charm wouldn't cure," Harry answered quickly, feeling foolish and determined to make light of his still racing pulse.

"Another brainstorm?" Minerva voiced her suspicion, and her mentee nodded wryly.

Knowing what the uncomfortable experience was made it easier to handle than the first time, and Harry met the incomprehension in the others with, "Tonks' white hair: for a moment, I didn't think it was Tonks."

"You're seeing things?" Moody's alarm made the young man start and he glared at him.

However it was his old professor who came to Harry's defence as she responded sharply, "Really Moody, simply because the rest of us don't have an all-seeing eye to aid us does not mean that we are seeing things."

"I'm not hallucinating, Moody," Harry agreed trying to keep his temper down, but his indignance and remaining disquiet coming through his voice anyway, "I just have some unpleasant associations to sort out."

"And one of them is me?" Tonks asked quietly, clearly appalled by whatever she had instigated.

"No!" the young man immediately forgot his quarrel with the paranoid Auror as he saw the woman's face and reached swiftly for his friend's hands; he squeezed them supportively and smiled weakly as he assured, "Nothing to do with you, Tonks, don't even think that. Last time I thought Neville was Brutus, and he's about three feet too short."

"Brutus, one of them was called Brutus?" Ron questioned, clearly as the thought occurred to him.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him as he sat back from a slightly less unhappy Tonks, and the red-head then went pale and the shock showed on his face as he realised that he had spoken out loud.

"Subtle wasn't it?" Harry shrugged, burying any angst he felt talking about the gaoler under heavy irony. "The other one was called, wait for it, Villainous."

His best friend laughed, it was a short sound as he tried to stifle it, but Harry's delivery made it difficult not to see the funny side. The young man felt the grin working its way across his face, surprising himself with the lightness of irreverence in his own being, and with his release, the aborted giggle came all the way out of Ron. Whether the disclosure held enough amusement for such chuckling no longer mattered as both men sought solace in laughter and fed off each other. The more they laughed, the funnier the thought got, and Harry let himself go.

"If there had been another one, do y'think he'd have been called Murderous?" Ron quipped through a gasp between chortles, and then held his sides as the thought caused another gale of laughter.

Harry was aware of how nasty that thought could have been, but in current circumstances, it was just funny, and he continued to corpse in tandem with his best friend.

The release only slowly petered out, and the two men calmed down into grinning at each other. Only then did Harry cast his attention away from Ron, and he met some bemused faces. Minerva had a vague smile playing on her lips, although she seemed confused by the hysterics she had just witnessed. Tonks was sat back, eyeing her companions with suspicion. Remus had an enigmatic look on his face, and Harry wondered idly if he was taking lessons from Albus. Moody was frowning, but there was nothing new there.

"Sorry," the young man apologised with a dismissive wave of his hand, "but I had to laugh or I'd cry."

No-one chose to make direct comment about his choice of words, which were in fact completely honest. Instead, Remus diverted the conversation glibly with, "Do we get chocolate now?"

Harry looked down at the box and its scattered contents and commented, "Well, if you don't mind that it'll be the second dusting off that they've had."

"Como!" Minerva offered, with a wave of her wand, and the chocolates rearranged themselves back into their places.

"Shall we try this again?" Harry offered, holding out the box towards Tonks.

"Not 'arf!" she returned, her normal good humour back in place.

* * *

The evening was quiet compared to the busy day, and Harry spent most of it finishing off the pirate paperback. His sleep was again disturbed by nightmares and the unpleasant after effects, but, as with the brainstorm, the young man was more determined than ever to push them aside. He refused point blank to take any potions, despite waking repeatedly in a cold sweat. Exhaustion eventually performed the same function as dreamless sleep potion, and Harry woke the next morning with large shadows under his eyes, but a sense of success. After a late, leisurely breakfast, he headed to the shower to rid himself of the tightness over his skin that was the grime of his restless night.

Harry shoved his pyjamas into the laundry bin, having been promised replacements, and eagerly climbed into the shower. As the water tumbled down onto his shoulders, the young man just stood still a moment, his eyes closed, and let the drumming ease away the tension in his muscles. He was still tired, despite Poppy having left him to sleep for a couple of extra hours, but it was a contented tired rather than the ragged exhaustion of the prisoner, or the feebleness of the patient, and Harry actually enjoyed the tingling in his body as it reminded him of the fight he had won. He wasn't free of the nightmares, but he had faced them without artificial help, and things could only get better from now on. Like the brainstorms, they were unpleasant hang-ups, but empowered by his achievement, Harry was feeling better equipped than he had since the escape to face all the consequences of his incarceration.

Since it was only his second encounter with a shower in what he considered far too long, Harry lost himself in the soap and water for a while. The cleansing found a calm place in his mind, and the young man ignored the world, pushing away even his recent success, preferring the stillness inside his cocoon. Only the warm droplets mattered as they removed more than mere physical dirt. Yet the world was not waiting for him, and Harry's reverie was disturbed by the call of his name from the room outside. The young man turned off the water and recognised the voice this time as the charge was repeated: it was Ron. He grabbed his glasses from where he had left them on the sink, and a towel, which he wrapped around his waist, and then pulled open the bathroom door. Steam escaped around him, and he reached up to rub the vapour from his spectacles as the world misted in front of him.

"Are you aiming to create a sauna in there?" the enquiry came, and Harry took a step back into the privacy of the bathroom as he realised that Ron had not come alone.

Hermione smiled impishly at his mild embarrassment at being very under-dressed (he'd known his friend a long time, but just a towel was usually saved for male-only company in the likes of a locker room).

"Morning Hermione, Ron," he ignored the jibe, and tried to look nonchalant as he crossed to collect the dressing gown he'd left on the door.

The young woman was still smiling cheekily when he turned back to the couple while slipping on the robe over his damp skin.

"Morning, Harry," his best friend returned, "y'know Mate, you're going to have to get used to getting up at the same time as the rest of us if you don't want to be caught short when we come along to invite you to a meeting."

Harry took a few moments to disentangle the meaning from Ron's quip, and then he noticed the bundle of clothes under the man's arm. His friends grinned widely as the light dawned, and excitement bubbled up in the young man like it was Christmas.

"Madame Pomfrey has agreed to let you go on the condition that you come straight back here afterwards," Hermione took the responsible role as usual, but her eyes were glittering as she recognised the school-boy exuberance in her companion.

"I brought you some of my clothes," Ron offered out the bundle, "they'll be a bit big, but there's a belt there too."

"Thanks," Harry finally remembered he had a voice, as he took the clothing, and he looked down at it with a pause, still taking in the new freedom that this moment represented.

"Er, Harry, we have to be in the conference room in fifteen minutes, you might want to get going," his red-headed companion added.

"Fifteen?!" the young man threw back incredulously, and dived for the bathroom.


	21. The Edge of A Precipice

Harry surprised himself when he didn't cut himself with the razor or knock out one of his teeth as he brushed them vigorously, but in ten minutes he was stood in front of his friends. However much she would deny it, Hermione was inspecting the outcome of the hurried toilet, and Harry quite enjoyed her scrutiny: it had been a long time since anyone but himself had been interested in how he looked. The jeans were too big, he'd had to notch the belt in even further than he'd been expecting to get them to stay up. The shirt was baggy, Ron had always been much broader across the shoulders than him. The underwear was new. His slippers were the only shoes he had, and they looked slightly odd, but Harry wasn't complaining. Finally, more for comfort than anything else, Harry had grabbed Molly's present out of the sideboard and had it draped over his shoulders. The whole ensemble was fairly presentable, clean and pressed, except for, it appeared, his hair. Hermione's eyes came to rest on the top of Harry's still damp head, and she frowned a moment.

"It won't lie flat," the young man objected automatically.

"Well, at least we can dry it," Hermione responded, a light, motherly smile on her face and she drew her wand, "Arefacio."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair as the drips stopped sliding down his neck, and responded, "Thanks. Now, will I do?"

Ron laughed, as Hermione looked surprised at the suggestion that her approval was needed.

"Of course you'll do," she responded dismissively, "shall we go?"

"Lead the way!" Harry agreed, and it felt wonderful as he opened the door to his room and let his friends go before him.

The corridor outside was nothing like the young man had imagined, given his brief glimpses of bare wall opposite his door. His room was at the ward end of a short hallway on whose walls hung every manner of picture from children's crayon drawings to a couple of sophisticated landscapes. They headed away from the ward, and Harry gazed at the images as he walked by, reading occasional notes on them that spoke of thanks and love to the ward staff. Absently he wondered how he would ever be able to express his gratitude to his carers. The young man was so intent on a bright scribble from the younger generation that he nearly walked into the body which stepped out of a doorway on the opposite side and end of the corridor. He came to a rapid halt in front of the serious face of Poppy Pomfrey.

"Now Harry," she launched straight into a warning, "take things slowly and don't over exert yourself."

"Wizard's honour," Harry beamed back at her, and the healer mixed a frown and a smile. "I promise," he added more seriously.

That seemed to mostly satisfy and Poppy nodded to herself, only the ghost of concern in her eyes as she stepped back into what Harry gathered was her office.

"We'll have him back in a couple of hours, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione assured the woman formally, and she slipped her arm around Harry's protectively.

"Just see you do, Madame Weasley," the carer stamped her authority on proceedings by agreeing with Hermione's use of formal address.

"We're going to be late," Ron complained, clearly unaware of the reassurance that was going on.

"Go, go," Poppy responded with a wave of her hands, but Harry could feel her eyes on his back until their small group disappeared around the corner.

* * *

They were underground, Harry was sure of it as he let himself be led down what seemed to be an endless stream of corridors without a single window. He kept the opinion to himself, unwilling to risk the guilty looks that accompanied the 'we can't say' replies, and just enjoyed the journey. They passed by school rooms with cracks and bangs and interesting potion smells coming from them. They headed through corridors of mixtures of bunk rooms and more private bedrooms. They even nearly tripped over a large basket of laundry which turned out to be being heaved by two House Elves across one of the hallways down which they walked. Harry took in the entire whistle stop tour with a warm sense of hope; life was still going on, spiting the hatred and intolerance that was going on above them.

The young man was somewhat dazed and totally lost by the time the threesome came to a halt outside a closed door, and he observed, "I'm rather glad I have an escort, I wouldn't have got here otherwise."

"Took me three weeks to find my way without getting lost," Ron agreed, "but now we have the Map at most junctions, you can just ask where you want to go."

There was no time to reply as his friend opened the door, and Harry was faced with a room full of people. The pang of nerves hit the young man without warning as he viewed a long table at which were sat a good twenty people. All faces turned to the door as the group entered, but they weren't interested in Ron, or Hermione, who stood loyally either side of their companion, and the mixture of interest which was laid on him made the newcomer feel a bit like he was on display. Some faces Harry recognised, others were new. Dumbledore and Amelia were seated either end of the conference table. Malcolm, a few unfamiliar faces, some vaguely familiar ones from school and the Ministry and surprisingly, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were sat one side of the long table. Tonks, Remus, Moody, Minerva, Kingsley Shaklebolt and Snape were seated along the other, in a very clearly defined Resistance vs Order way. There was one other person sat with the Order, in the middle, next to three empty chairs, was Ginny Weasley. The young woman looked small and pale, her fair skin grey against the strength of red in her hair. Any thought of formality dropped away as the young man met his friend's free eyes for the first time, and he saw an inspiring fight in them. He smiled at her as they shared a moment, and suddenly, the girl was on her feet.

A respectful silence remained from the rest of the room as the two friends met properly for the first time in too many years. Ginny was subdued, she stopped a few feet away, a mixture of guilt and gratitude in her features as she breathed, "Harry, I am so sorry I gave you away."

The young man reacted on instinct; as his heart went out to his companion, he followed with his body and wrapped her in a hug.

"Not your fault, bloody Imperius," he answered with a deep certainty, "I'm just glad you're alright."

The girl reached back, trembling a little and Harry felt stronger again as he offered another sufferer his support. Yet, they were both aware of where they were and the friends stood apart again, smiling at each other; as Harry read the left over pain in his companion's eyes, he knew there would be time later for talking. It was Ginny who, with formidable resolve, broke the look and turned back to the gathered company. Only then did both Dumbledore and Amelia stand up.

"Welcome, Harry," the old wizard greeted, "please, join us."

The four friends approached the table, and Harry seated himself between Ginny and Hermione as his hosts returned to their seats. The young man glanced across at Dean who happened to be sitting opposite him, and was given a smile of welcome; the unfamiliar woman next to him was not so friendly, and her expression remained cool. Harry didn't try and examine any more faces, he was just glad when Amelia drew his attention as she began, "Thank you all for coming. Some of you are aware of the subject of this meeting, others of you are not, so I shall go over our intention. Professor Dumbledore and myself have called this conference in order to discuss the issues surrounding Draco Malfoy."

Harry gritted his teeth as his lover's name was mentioned and he was given a reason for the dour faces on the other side of the table. It was quite clear where most stood, even Dean's eyes hardened at the name of the Heir Apparent.

"Most specifically, we have the pressing issues of the bind runes and the Orb of Eternity to resolve," Albus clarified in what was clearly an agreed division of authority between the two leaders. "I suggest that we begin with the Orb."

"Ginny," Amelia took over again, "thank you for being here. You and Madame FlintArrow were responsible for researching the Orb. What can you tell us about it."

The young woman took a deep breath, and Harry glanced at her. She seemed uncomfortable with every eye on her, and her fingers drummed lightly, but quickly on the table as she drew her thoughts together.

"The Orb was created before records began, but scholars have surmised that it came from somewhere in Africa," Ginny drew in another breath, gaining poise as her academic training came into play. "As soon as it began to appear in literature, it is clear that the Orb was considered to be capable of both good and evil. Some of the greatest healers our world has seen have used the Orb to aid; they would bond with the Orb, merging their souls with its power, and use their own magic through the Orb to heal the sick where no normal magic would be able to help, and even prolong life. However, the Orb's ability to manipulate souls has also been used to destroy. To function, the Orb requires the power of a soul, the healers used their own, but there have been those who have used the Orb to maintain their own lives indefinitely by sacrificing others to it."

Ginny paused, clearly appalled by the knowledge she was imparting. Her silence brought an aggressive enquiry from the other side of the table; the woman next to Dean accused, "But neither of these functions is what we have been told He Who Shall Not Be Named wants it for."

"No," Harry was impressed by his friend's confidence as she responded calmly, but firmly, "they are not. In the 17th century, the Orb was acquired by Phileas Hornbeam, and he put a great deal of his family's fortune into researching its powers. He was already an old man when he began his research, and at age 110, he was found dead in his house, along with another man who had been stabbed, and the Orb was gone, as was his apprentice. A search was undertaken for the young man, Hilbert Adams, and when he was found, the Orb in hand, the truth came out. Hilbert Adams was no longer himself, he was Phileas. The old wizard had surmised that the Orb could be used to more than manipulate souls, it could in fact transfer them, and he had developed the Midnight Oil Ceremony."

"Ms Weasley," another Resistance member, a man this time, sat close to Amelia; he was small, hunched-over and wore thick glasses, "Martin Bookworthy, I work in the Ministry Archives. As far as I am aware, none of this information is available in our records. Pray, tell me how you came by it."

Ginny smiled, the look of a consummate research professional, and she answered, "Madame and I began to research the Orb four years ago in connection with its healing properties. It is true that there is no one account which gives all the information about the Orb, but it is referenced many times in many texts. We put the information together."

"When you began to discover the power of this thing, didn't you feel it unwise to continue your research?" the accusing woman threw in again, clearly hostile to the whole thing.

"Ms -?"

"Rough-Rock."

"Ms Rough-Rock, information is never dangerous," Ginny returned smartly, "only what one does with it."

"But the Dark Lord does intend to use this thing dangerously," the observation came from their side of the table this time, it was Moody.

"Yes, he fully intends to recreate the Midnight Oil Ceremony using Draco as his host," the woman confirmed, and her eyes dropped guiltily to the table top.

Silence fell, everyone looking around at each other as the implications of the information sunk in. Albus eventually pressed on and requested, "Ginny, My Dear, if you are able, would you lead us through the details of the ceremony."

The girl looked up at her old headmaster and seemed to be drawing strength from his usual serenity. Harry wasn't at all comfortable with the atmosphere in the room, and he would rather not have heard such details as his imagination was already running rampant, but he sat stock still, and listened.

"Midnight Oil was Phileas' name for blood," Ginny continued, her voice cracking; Harry slipped his hand onto her leg and patted supportively: he felt strong again when she glanced at him and seemed better for his intervention. "The Orb always requires a blood link to its master, but Phileas knew that he could increase the Orb's power by sacrifice, by trapping a soul inside the Orb, as many despots had done before him. However, he did not intend to leech the power of that soul over an extended period as they had done, he thought himself too old, instead he surmised that he could use the Orb's powers to transfer his soul into another body. He wrote a spell to use the Orb to subjugate and then take over another body.

Firstly, a victim is bound using potions and the initial verse of the spell. Then the Orb is empowered by sacrificing the soul to it through the blood link. That soul, since it is already enslaved can be used to channel the second verse of the spell; the Orb is placed into the hands of the second victim, and the Orb, again through blood contact, subjugates the body. Finally, the third verse of the spell draws the sorcerer's soul out of his body, through the Orb and into the new, prepared host. It is not clear what happens to the original soul, there was certainly no sign of Hilbert once Phileas had taken him over."

"Nice chap this Phileas," Ron observed, drawing the hostility towards the ceremony away from the messenger.

Ginny's hand slipped under the table and took hold of Harry's as the attention moved. The young man squeezed her fingers, and gave her a quick smile of support: he knew how difficult being the bringer of bad tidings could be.

"Draco was to be the host," Amelia ignored Ron and continued, "had Voldemort," the intake of breath went round the room, "chosen a sacrifice?"

Her companion found his fingers being squeezed tighter, and Ginny looked at him with more guilt in her eyes as she answered, "Harry."

That implication suddenly made sense of all the healing he had been afforded after his enemy's' games, and feeling oddly indignant, he concluded, "So that's why they worked so damn hard to keep me alive."

He laughed humourlessly, trying to cover a pang of horror.

"You did not know about this?" Amelia questioned, revealing with her tone that she, at least, had been party to much of the information in advance.

Harry got the feeling that he was being tested again, as, under her careful observation, he shook his head and explained, "I didn't even know what I was bringing to Britain to begin with. Most of the information I found out about the Orb was through Draco, and he didn't know very much, just that it meant he was doomed."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Seamus made himself known for the first time with his familiar sarcasm.

Harry's temper tripped and he opened his mouth to object, but Albus was faster as he reprimanded, "Shall we keep to the matter in hand?"

The Irishman grinned at his old dorm mate as Harry backed off the argument; Harry bit his tongue, Seamus wasn't worth a bad impression to the strangers in the room, so he just scowled and waited for someone to continue.

"Alright," Amelia took up where her counterpart left off, "since we are discussing Draco: Harry, Ginny can you tell us why he is bound by the runes?"

The pair glanced at each other, and Ginny's eyes asked Harry to go first, so he answered, "From what Draco told me, Voldemort, wants a body more powerful than anything this world has ever seen. The Death Eaters have therefore been filling him with magic, against his will, for the last five years, bit by bit."

"Do you believe everything he tells you?" Malcolm asked, obviously testing like his superior had before him.

"I saw them doing it," Harry answered as calmly as he could manage.

"So have I," Ginny joined in, and their hands squeezed together again in camaraderie as she elaborated, "once the Orb had been chosen as the means by which He would gain Draco's body, Madame and I were involved in designing some of the ceremonies which invested Draco with magic so that they would compliment the final transference. I have been present at several as an observer."

"And the runes?" Hermione prompted gently.

"To keep it all inside him," Harry responded, his tone coarse as he recalled the disquiet in Draco's eyes when they had discussed the runes.

"There is much too much magic inside Draco for any ordinary wizard to control," their double act continued, and Harry was very glad for Ginny's presence as they shared the focus. "The runes keep the magic under control. However, they are unstable."

Harry looked at his friend and let his alarm show, she spoke only to him as she explained, "Draco doesn't know, but after many of the ceremonies, when he was unconscious, his father took him away and strengthened the runes."

"Can't we do the same?" Snape questioned, his face in his usual sneer, but concern in his voice.

"The runes are easy enough to remove," Ginny responded with an apologetic shrug, "but only the maker has the key to add power to them. I think it was meant to be a deterrent to anyone who thought about kidnapping Draco."

"They get themselves a time bomb," Dean concluded, and the girl nodded.

"So what can we do?" Harry demanded urgently, his worry for once concurring with Severus'.

"Dump him out at sea?" Seamus provided unhelpfully, and this time Harry snapped before anyone could step in; he stood up, his eyes blazing and fired at his contemporary, "Have you listened to anything that has been said?! Draco is not some prince like Voldemort would have you believe, he is a victim of this regime just like the rest of us."

"He chose his path even before he left school," Seamus also stood up, and yelled back.

"He had no idea what they had planned for him," Harry growled back, "he wasn't given a choice."

"So he says now," the accusation came back.

"There's a time when you have to start believing people!"

"Enough!" Amelia got to her feet and intervened; the two men fell silent, glaring at each other, and their superior provided, "No matter whether we believe Mr Malfoy or not, the fact remains that we have under our roof, a man that we can neither move easily for fear of being traced, nor leave as he is, because his condition is not stable. Now, since Ginny seems to know the most about this, I suggest we ask her if she has any theories regarding the runes."

Reluctantly, Seamus and Harry capitulated to the group will and sat back down. Harry returned his hand below the table, and his friend grabbed it with a firm squeeze.

"I would say we have a few more days, no more than a week before the runes become unstable," the girl surmised. "If the runes start to fail, Draco will have no control over what is happening, since even partially in place, they would stop him properly reaching the magic, therefore, I suggest we remove the runes before they fail."

The room exploded with objection from both sides of the table. Ginny sat silently at the centre of the furore, her grip increasing around Harry's fingers, which kept his own tongue quiet. His friend need of his support conflicted with his own concerns at such an idea, and he looked to the only other still person in the room, Albus Dumbledore. The man nodded to him and slowly held up his hand; his action was enough for silence to fall.

"Ginny, how have you reached this conclusion?"

"The Great Hall and Draco's suite, where most of the ceremonies take place, are protected from any errant magic escaping by spells which, I believe with the skills we have amongst us, could be reproduced in a couple of days, at which point, it would be only fair to remove the wards and give Draco a chance to try and control the magic."

"What are the possible outcomes of letting him at the magic?" Malcolm asked carefully.

"As I said, there is too much magic inside him, so Draco will have to get rid of a lot of it," the young woman extrapolated. "Hopefully, it will come out as easily as it went in, and be absorbed back into the world, but if it doesn't, any number of things could happen, depending on what magic turns on him."

"Say he succeeds, and we don't just have to clear up the mess," Seamus cut in again, "what then?"

Harry bit his tongue as he felt both Amelia and Albus looking at him; he was not going to lose it again, he wanted to hear what Ginny had to say. Ginny didn't seem impressed with the Irishman's attitude either, and she narrowed her eyes as she replied, "Whatever magic he doesn't expel, Draco will have to absorb and learn to control. Draco would probably become the most powerful wizard ever known."

"Oh great!" Dean worded the disquiet on all faces at that suggestion.

"He is on our side now," Harry objected to the thoughts he could see behind every eye.

"We only have his word, and your opinion on that point," Rough-Rock very obviously agreed with Seamus by the crossing of her arms and the hard look in her eyes; Harry began to wonder if he recognised the voice from his interrogation.

"We have a simple choice, ladies and gentlemen," Albus' calm, but clear voice ran down the table: "we may condemn a man to death by leaving the situation as it stands, or we may offer him a chance of survival and accept the consequences of such an opportunity."

"Hold on a minute," Moody cut in, "we have only the girlie's evidence that the runes are even unstable."

"That girlie," it was Ron's turn to object and he objected hotly, "is my sister, the woman you have known and worked with in the Order."

"And she's been under Imperius for two years," the Auror met his colleague head on.

"Well, you can just wait and see if you want," Ginny showed that she had the Weasley temper in her as her eyes flashed indignantly, "but as Albus says, you'll be condemning Draco to a slow and probably painful death."

That stopped Moody in his tracks. He may have been paranoid, but he was not heartless. Neither it seemed, were any of the other objectors around the table, because silence fell, and Amelia drew the conclusion, "Well, it would appear that we have no choice in this, because, I for one will not condemn a man out of hand, whatever his reputation."

"So who's going to tell Draco?" Harry asked quietly, and all eyes came back to him.

"You are, Harry," Dumbledore told him what he was half hoping and half dreading to hear, and no-one protested.

* * *

If there was one person Harry would have preferred not to have by his side as he approached the room where Draco was being held, it was Ron Weasley. The red-head had been stonily silent since they'd left the remnants of the meeting, and his friend was more than aware of his attitude to their destination. The young man was already anxious about the meeting, knowing the kind of message he had to deliver to his lover, and he really didn't want to have to handle Ron's hostility as well. The only further decision that had been made at the table was that Harry would not be allowed to see Draco alone or for very long, and in the semi-prisoner's opinion, it would have been preferable to have had Moody along than his best friend who had volunteered for the first escort shift. Harry was getting loyalty and enmity off his companion in equal measure, and not quite sure how to handle the situation, he'd just kept his own uncomfortable silence.

Now the door, guarded by a stranger to Harry, was looming large, and the young man was in even more of a quandary. He let Ron greet the wizard on duty, not really listening as he contemplated his own thoughts. He only took notice as the door opened and Ron indicated for him to go first. The room was much the same as many he'd already seen, white, clean and furnished with a bed, a chair, a desk and a chest of drawers. Standing next to the bed, in response to Harry's entry, was a surprised-looking Draco, a paperback hanging from his hand. Harry stopped a little way into the room, and the two men just looked at each other, neither sure of this new situation. The young man saw his lover rock on his toes, and he felt a wont to wrap Draco in his arms, but he could feel Ron just behind him, and Draco's flick of eyes over his shoulder told Harry that he was more than aware of him.

"Good to see you, Draco," Harry greeted lamely.

"Glad you're up and about," came the response, and Draco shoved his hands into his pockets and slouched.

"Yeah, well, now I'm mobile, I get an escort, but he's better looking than Crabbe," Harry joked; Draco smiled thinly, but, when he looked over his shoulder at him, Ron just glared at him as if this was no place for humour.

"Interesting reversal," Draco answered cordially, and Harry could see his shields fully in place, "you with a bodyguard, and me locked in a cell."

"Reversal?!" Ron demonstrated with his resentment that his fuse was very short in present company, and he moved past Harry, charging, "How dare you compare us to your lot? Do you see anyone torturing you?"

His lover took a step away from the hostility, as Harry moved towards it. Harry reached out to his best friend's shoulder and urged, "Ron, stop it."

If there had been a wrong thing to do, it was that, and the irate Weasley spun on his companion, swiping off the hand. Harry stood his ground, though, and something in his manner stopped Ron from opening his mouth again; he just glared as Harry told him, "Remember why we're here."

"Why are you here?" Draco interrupted the moment between the friends, and Harry gratefully returned his attention to the blond man.

He crossed over to him, still stopping himself a few feet away to resist the temptation to touch as he saw the trepidation in his lover's grey eyes, and disclosed, "I need to tell you some stuff about the bind runes."

Draco's gaze went to his wrists at the mention of the swirling shapes, and Harry had to hold down his instincts to offer comfort. He cursed Ron's presence as that ice-blue stare came back up to meet his, and he could see the amount of anxiety the mere mention of the runes caused in his partner.

"Are the wards not working, or something?" Draco asked hopefully, but even his tone of voice said he suspected something worse.

"No," Harry confirmed, and continued on before he ran out of steam "the wards are fine, but we have a problem. According to Ginny, the runes are unstable, and the only person who could sure them up was Lucius. He used to do it when you were unconscious after the ceremonies. If they failed, they'd kill you, so the only option is to remove them."

"So I die or I die," Draco instantly covered his horror with the glib remark.

"No," Harry denied, and he did reach out this time, taking the other man's arm as he went to turn away. "There is a damn good chance you could expel the excess magic without harm, the same way it went in."

"You don't know how most of it did go in," Draco charged, his shields crumbling at the honest touch, and his loathing of all that had happened coming through.

"No I don't," Harry agreed, but added firmly, "but I will do everything to help you get it out again, safely."

Draco seemed lost then, caught between the support Harry was offering and the fear he had lived with for half a decade. His lover rubbed his arm, holding back from any other sign of affection with Ron's ire standing behind him, and tried to tell him with his expression how much he cared.

"Harry, we have to go," his best friend broke the atmosphere deliberately, and Harry turned and glared at him.

[How insensitive can you be, Weasley?] the young man caught himself thinking, and didn't stamp on the thought as his protectiveness towards his lover came through.

"Do you have to be so officious?" he snapped out loud, and saw the hurt run across Ron's face.

He ignored it and turned back to Draco.

"Did I mention they don't trust me yet?" he shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, but coming off sad.

Draco smiled weakly, and Harry saw him flex against the instinctive reach he wanted to make for his partner.

"I'll start whining and see how long it takes them to let me come back and see you again," he joked, but they both knew how unlikely that would be; Harry straightened then and concluded, "It'll be a couple of days, but wild dragons won't keep me away when we remove the runes."

"Take care of yourself, Harry," Draco dismissed, and then his companion knew it was time to go.

With a final smile to substitute for the kiss he wanted to give, he turned and strode out before his emotions got the better of him. Ron trailed after him, and as soon as the door closed, he snarled at the red-head, "Take me back to my room."

* * *

Harry lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and sulked; Poppy had not been happy with the tense, moody patient who had been returned to her, and the young man had listened with no little satisfaction to her chastising Ron outside his door. Then he'd felt guilty, and he hadn't liked that, so he'd started sulking. When Pomfrey had come in and suggested lunch, he'd said no out of sheer spite, and so now to cap it all, he was hungry as well. He wasn't in any mood for visitors, and it showed in his lack of response to a light knock on his door. The rap was repeated, and petulantly, the young man sat up and barked, "Go away!"

The door opened, and Harry felt very much like the school boy whose age he was acting when the opening was filled with the calm, but slightly disappointed stare of Albus Dumbledore.

"I sincerely hope you do not mean that, Harry," the old wizard told him with a blink which reproved the young man more successfully than would have a diatribe.

Harry sighed and offered, "Come in, Albus, I'm sorry, it just hasn't been a good morning."

"I was hoping to join you for lunch, My Boy. I trust I am not too late."

His mentee smiled and shook his head as he recognised Poppy's hand in at least part of the visit.

"No, you are not too late, and if Madame Pomfrey wants me to eat something, I will," he returned, raising his voice at the end for the benefit of the shadow he could see in the corridor.

Harry thought he caught the briefest of smiles under Albus' substantial beard as the wizard turned away to close the door, but it had disappeared back into the serene mask by the time he began to cross to his chair. His host just waited for the man to sit down and begin; despite the pleasantries, he knew this wasn't a social call.

"So, what transpired at your meeting with Draco?" Dumbledore began directly.

"You mean the hassled conversation that Ron would have preferred we didn't have?" Harry found he was still feeling that bit too vindictive to let his sharp tongue lie.

"Do not blame Ron too greatly," Albus advised. "He is very protective of you, and his view of Draco is very different from your own."

The young man sighed again and tried to put away the anxiety which was not helping his temper.

"Draco took the news well considering I told him he was going to have to face a life and death situation in two days," he disclosed honestly, letting his concern show, and then he decided to get to the point as he told his companion, "I want to be the one to remove the runes."

"I had expected as much," Dumbledore's face showed some concern, and he raised his fingers to his lips.

"I won't give in on this one," Harry added earnestly. "I have rolled over and done everything the Resistance and the Order have asked of me, but I won't abandon Draco to a stranger."

The powerful man gave his friend a hard stare, but Harry refused to back down, and eventually, he was rewarded with, "I shall inform Madame Bones."

The statement was made in such a way that the young man knew that Albus would not be taking no for an answer, and he smiled gratefully. However, the old wizard was not finished and he added, "It is, of course, too dangerous for you to remain in the chamber with Draco once the runes have been removed."

Harry stared hard at his mentor, initially considering an objection, however, then he thought better of it. Dumbledore could win one fight for him, but two was doubtful, and he didn't want his friend lying for him. Flatly he returned, "Of course."

Whether Albus recognised the lie for what it was, Harry didn't have time to find out, because a knock on the door announced his healer with the lunch trolley, and his companion turned cordially to greet her.


	22. Breaking Chains

Harry stared in the mirror at the grey under his eyes and was sure of only one thing, Albus Dumbledore had won his fight for him, and today was the day when he would be the wizard to condemn Draco Malfoy to his fate. The last forty eight hours had been some of the slowest and most difficult of his life, as the young man had stood on the sidelines, and been forced to just watch the preparations for the rune removal. Without a wand, he'd been unable to help his fellows construct the warded and padded chamber in which the event was to take place. It had niggled when Ginny had been given a wand, even when Minerva had taken great pains to explain that her input was essential, and thus the ghost of Imperius had been weighed against the necessity of Ginny's knowledge.

As well as feeling useless Harry had to contend with his worry for Draco. Whatever persuasion Albus had used to concede his place on the day, it had led to a refusal from all sides to let Harry see Draco again. Coupled with the grin this had brought to Ron's face, Harry wasn't talking to his best friend, which just made him feel more like an outsider. The lonely wizard had thus been left with nothing but his concerns for his lover, and they had added even more unsettling images to his dreams. Hence, Harry had risen early and was now trying to make himself look presentable.

[Poppy is not going to be happy,] he mused, as the razor revealed more grey, tired skin beneath the stubble.

The healer had been fussing over him since he'd started venturing out, and the extra stress he'd called upon himself had not pleased her. When she had found out exactly what he had planned, and only three days after being given the all clear to even get out of bed, the woman had all but exploded on the spot. She had locked him in his room, with promises not to let him out for a week, and Harry had had the feeling that Albus had also intervened with his carer on his behalf, because she had growled every time the ancient wizard's name had been mentioned since reneging on her threats. Sallow skin and drooping eyelids were certainly not going to impress Poppy.

Harry pushed away his moody thoughts, they weren't productive, and he had a job to do, one of the most important of his life. He finished shaving and got dressed; between them, Remus, Ron, and even Moody had supplied him with an interesting mixture of clothing. Remus' shirts fitted him better than Ron's, and Moody had the same shoe-size, so he was no longer walking around in slippers, but he was still belting his best friend's jeans. He selected the smartest of the mismatched garments, and was finishing buttoning a blue shirt when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," he called, and put on a smile for the person he knew would be outside.

Pomfrey surveyed her patient from the doorway, her arms folded and her face grave, his false grin doing nothing to convince her that things were alright. The young man straightened and his healer came into the room.

"Morning, Mr Potter," she greeted, "all ready, I see."

"Couldn't sleep," he admitted, knowing they were both beyond platitudes.

"No, so I could see from Neville's report this morning," the woman responded. "This kind of stress is not good for."

"I know, I know," Harry returned tersely, and paced over to the window, away from his visitor, as her observations only succeeded in annoying him, "but this war doesn't care about that."

"This isn't about war," Poppy snapped back, and her patient turned around as the vehemence in her reply surprised him.

Harry was used to the forceful, professional ire of his nurse, but this sounded more personal. The woman was clearly upset, and her host regretted his snit. Yet, she was so very wrong, and Harry replied, a little more calmly, "It has everything to do with war. If Draco dies, that's another notch in His belt, and I will do everything in my power to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Then don't take everything on yourself, there are others who can do this, you don't have to stand alone," the healer was almost begging him to see her sense.

Harry smiled, and went over to his friend; she seemed surprised as he took her hands, but she didn't argue.

"Thank you for everything, Poppy," he told her sincerely. "Both you and Neville have gone above and beyond for me, and that's what I have to do for Draco. He is my friend, and I will not leave him alone to face this."

"I knew it," the woman breathed, but her vehemence was gone as she stared directly into his eyes, just a mixture of worry and hurt remained. "I knew you wouldn't do as you've been told."

"I doubt there's anyone who doesn't suspect, but they can't prove it," Harry shrugged, and broke away gently as his companion's emotions became too much for him. Then he added quietly, "You won't tell them, will you?"

The young man glanced back across at his friend, and her lips were pursed and her hands on her hips, but she replied, "If they don't have the sense to stop it, then I won't tell."

"Thank you," he finished and sat down on the bed, suddenly feeling a little weak as his own emotions hit him.

He'd have been lying to himself if he hadn't let the pang of fear run its course and create a shiver through the length of his body, but he batted it down with his concern for his friend: Draco needed him, and he would not let him down.

"Well," Poppy interrupted his thoughts, and the look on her face was that of the professional, "since you have such a big day ahead, you must eat a good breakfast."

He just smiled again and nodded.

* * *

Breakfast was now half an hour ago, and Harry was pacing; the room had begun to feel small a few minutes after he had finished the hearty meal. Reading hadn't helped, staring out of the window at his flower-patterned view had made the feeling worse as it underlined the lack of control he still had to live with in his world. Pacing seemed to be the only activity left. He kept at bay the nasty possibilities that today had in store with memories of the strength of his lover and the resolution he had seen in his eyes the night of their escape. Many things were hazy about that arduous journey out of the castle, but Harry remembered the purpose in Draco with crystal clarity. That kind of strength was what both of them were going to require to make it through the day, and the young wizard used the memory to bolster his own defences.

His brain kept him moving, and avoided obstacles in his path, but that was all the attention it paid to the outside world as Harry focused on psyching himself up. He therefore started quite violently when a thump on his door brought him right back into the present. The young man spun to face the portal and managed to call for entry. Tonks and Remus breezed in, and he was glad when they ignored his ruffled edges. His friends were getting used to his 'episodes', as Minerva had labelled them, and anything less than a brainstorm was generally being treated as though it wasn't there.

"Good morning, Harry," Lupin smiled brightly, "all ready for the off?"

The young man nodded, bringing himself back down from the ceiling, metaphorically speaking. He'd known his escort had to arrive soon, and he mentally chided himself for his reaction, it was just that the 'training' of his gaolers was taking time to wear off. However, this morning, his friends were having none of it.

"Not quite, he isn't," Tonks joined in, and she was grinning at him from underneath a pink fringe.

It was only as she came to a halt that Harry realised his companion was dressed in her simple charcoal-grey work robes: this Auror was on duty, and she was carrying another identical uniform.

"Harry Potter, since you are fulfilling an official duty today, it has been agreed," Tonks puffed herself up grandly for a moment, and then winked as she held out the robes and finished, "you gotta look the part."

The woman's humour was infectious, and, as he took the offered uniform, Harry grinned at her, feeling that little bit more included again.

"Thanks," he answered earnestly, and rubbed his fingers against the familiar feel of the heavy weave.

He'd been used to wearing this around the compound, every Auror on site had had to be visible, but back in the thick of things, the distinguishing livery meant much more. He was no longer on the sidelines. However briefly, he would now represent authority, and he pulled on the robes with the reverence they inspired in him.

The pair of visitors beamed proudly at him, as he straightened the uniform over his otherwise mismatched garments, both clearly aware of the impact their surprise had had.

"They're my second best, so they'll be a bit short," Tonks shrugged as the cloth did indeed come a few inches higher than his own would have done.

"Tonks, they're perfect," Harry returned gratefully.

"Well, we couldn't have you on official business without robes," Remus added as his female companion just bounced on her heels, basking in her success.

"Thank you," he breathed, feeling his mental armour strengthened: he was, at last, an Auror again.

* * *

"So you think you'll be able to perform the removal spell without practice?" Remus asked carefully, as they made their way across the base.

Harry raised an eyebrow, but didn't reply immediately; it was a very unsubtle launch into conversation, considering they'd been walking in silence for a few minutes, and that the man knew perfectly well that his friend was more than capable of performing the simple spell.

"I think I can manage Dissuius without too much of a problem," the young wizard returned coolly, noticing that Tonks, who was walking just ahead of them turned slightly, and then stopped herself.

"And everything else?" the older wizard chose to be direct.

That brought the party to a smart halt, as Harry decided that whatever was to be said, was best not done in the hearing of any one else involved in the day's proceedings. Both of his companions turned to him, and there were no more smiles.

"I can handle it," the young man assured them, more out of defence than any sense of his own abilities.

"You're good, Harry, but you're not that good," Tonks countered, her hands on her hips. "This is nuts."

"This whole war is nuts, or hadn't you noticed this country is being run by a madman?" Harry hissed, wanting support, not opposition. "Draco is one of our best chances of beating him."

"So if this goes wrong, we lose two of our best chances instead of one," Remus charged reasonably, calmer at least on the surface than his fellows.

Harry had no answer for that; he knew what he was risking, but to have it spelt out so clearly made him go cold. Yet, he had made a decision, and he was not going to let Draco down.

"Look, you can tell Amelia that her suspicions are right if you like, but I will fight anyone who gets in my way," he threatened firmly, making sure his friends saw the determination in him, "and I will never forgive myself or anyone who stops me if Draco dies and I wasn't there to at least try and help him."

The young man didn't wait for a reply then; he pushed between his companions and headed down the one route in the warren of corridors which he had etched into his mind.

* * *

They hadn't stopped him, nor had they spoken; Tonks and Remus had just followed him, a few paces behind, and as he neared his goal, Harry was beginning to wish he had not been so severe. The silence made him nervous. He was so close, and yet he didn't know if either of his friends was about to give him away, neither did he know if there would be more opposition from anyone waiting in the specially created chamber. The young man felt very alone, he knew none of his friends could understand why he was willing to go so far for a one-time enemy, but he didn't have the courage to explain how deep his feelings ran for his lover, not when surrounded by such hostility to his actions; in fact, he surmised that it would probably get him dragged away at greater speed.

As Harry rounded the final corner to his destination, his eyes fell upon the contingent of wizards and witches who had so far been involved in the build up to the rune removal. Albus was conversing with Amelia, whose face was grave; Minerva, Ron, and Ginny were stood together, although none of them were talking; Malcolm and two of his colleagues were equally non-conversational; Snape was stood alone, staring resolutely up the corridor. His hawkish gaze met Harry's as soon as the young man entered the hallway, and Harry knew he knew. Further than that, Severus' intentions on the subject were a mystery, and all Harry could do was to set his own features. He strode purposefully towards his fellows, hoping against hope that his petty adversary would not decide to interfere with his plans.

"Your tardiness has not improved, Potter," Snape announced the young Auror's presence to the rest of the party, and his wand tapped agitatedly on his folded arm.

"My fault," Tonks announced loudly, striding past Harry with a quick pat on his arm, "I couldn't find my spare robe."

"Where was it, in the rag bag?" Severus carried on cutting, and his ex-pupil got the feeling he was venting frustration from another source; when the young man noticed the cast of Albus' heavy gaze towards his colleague, he knew what that other source was. Professor Dumbledore had been wielding his authority amongst his people: no-one was going to say anything.

Tonks scowled at her fellow Order member, but said nothing.

"Severus, perhaps now you and Malcolm would fetch Mr Malfoy," Albus stepped in smoothly before the tightly-wound man could say any more.

The man twitched at the order, and seemed torn between obeying and snarking some more. However, as Malcolm walked past him, he fell in and stalked off with one last glare at Harry. Harry watched his back a moment, but was drawn round to the assembled group by Amelia's slightly disapproving tones.

"Harry, I must still advise you strongly against this course of action. There are others who would willingly take your place."

"Thank you, Ma'am, but no," the Auror returned, using formality as his shield. "This is something I have to do."

That seemed to seal any argument that Madame Bones had, because Harry saw the resignation appear in her eyes as she glanced at Dumbledore. The old wizard just gazed at the experienced witch calmly for a moment, the communication between them unreadable to Harry, and then Albus turned back to Harry.

"Harry, the time has come to return to you something which is rightfully yours," Albus smiled as he reached into his robes.

"For the duration of the task at hand," Amelia qualified before Harry could hope too much.

The pang of disappointment his superior's words created didn't last too long, because it was pushed out by the sense of right which returned as Harry reached out and took his wand. He barely contained the sigh which threatened, and he didn't even try to hold back a tiny smile as he looked down at the dark wood in his hand. He took a moment to welcome back the old friend, and no wizard or witch interrupted him. Finally, the young man slipped his wand into his robes and looked back up at his companions.

[They all know,] he thought to himself, as each face told its own story: his friends looked concerned, even Dumbledore had a crease across his brow; the others, well Bones still looked grave, and the rest didn't matter.

Questions and suspicions hung behind every expression, but Harry was not about to confirm or deny anything, not until he was safely in the chamber, not until it was too late to stop him, because that is what Amelia Bones would surely do.

"May I go inside?" he requested, wanting to be out from under the scrutiny.

Albus and Amelia, who were stood in his path, just moved out of the way, and with a nod of respect to them, Harry walked on to his goal. He could feel the wards as he walked into the room; anyone with experience of magic would have felt it hiccup on the threshold, as the magics within and without the room were separated by the protection on the walls. This was a universe all of its own, a grey-padded universe without any form except for the occasional shallow undulation in the harm-averting surfaces. Only a few, thin magical strands linked these two places, enough to allow the wards' creators to assess the amount of power in the tiny universe, enough only to gauge this new dimension's threat to the one which held it. No other links existed, nor could exist unless the wards broke, and given the power of the many practitioners who had added their strength to the seals, that was unlikely.

Harry walked to the centre of the room and took a moment to clear his mind; he closed his eyes and brought himself fully into the new surroundings, nothing outside mattered now, just the task ahead, and for that he had to be strong. He pushed away any fatigue from his lack of sleep, he settled any anxiety using the calm of his Occlumency training, and he reached for every magical fibre in his being.

The young man remained still, until the sound of movement at the door disturbed him and his eyes opened again: he hoped they showed the calm he had achieved and the presence of mind which came with it. Harry was ready as his lover was led into the room. The young wizard ignored the ready sneer on Snape's face, and his lack of interest held back any comment that might have been forthcoming. Malcolm was more interested in his prisoner than he was in Harry, and so the waiting Auror gazed silently across at Draco. Draco was bound across his wrists with ornate silver cuffs which obscured the runes completely. They looked heavy and uncomfortable, and Harry hated the reasons for what had to be powerful wards: Voldemort had a lot to answer for.

Harry just watched as, passively, Draco offered his hands up for the removal of the mobile defences against the beacons in the runes; the prisoner's face was blank, no disdainful mask, nor the sensitive young man who lived behind it, that was, until he looked up. The wall fell away as Draco recognised a friendly face, and Harry wanted to reach out right then and there to meet the fear at the back of those ice blue eyes. Yet he held back: falling apart in emotion was not what Draco needed right now, he needed support. Harry drew in a deep breath and smiled. Both men ignored the two escorts, who left silently once their task was finished. Free in their own universe once more, they surveyed each other in its temporary calm. Harry could see the purpose in his companion, the will to face this trial, but it hurt to see it mixed with doubt and fear which the future presented. Harry would have spoken, offered up his support in words, but a voice from the doorway interrupted that thought.

"Are you ready, Mr Malfoy?" Dumbledore's smooth tones made the double check.

Draco's gaze was gone for a second, as he turned and nodded at his old headmaster. The Professor just bowed his head in return and then glanced across at Harry.

"And Mr Potter?"

Harry nodded as well, glancing once back at Draco to make sure that his friend saw his determination, and then back at Dumbledore. It was time to remove all doubt about his actions, and he spoke sincerely, "Lock down now, Professor, I'm not coming out."

The serene response was expected, when the old man just blinked at him over his glasses and then nodded one more time. "As you wish, Harry. Good luck, both of you."

Draco, however, had not been privy to the tension of the last few days, and he was surprised by the disclosure; Harry knew Albus had told Draco how events were expected to progress, and from his open face, Harry read very clearly the expectation that all should have left him to his fate. Mixed with already tightly wound emotions, Draco's surprise came out in thunder, and, as the door closed, he demanded, "You're leaving, Harry, you remove these bloody bindings and you leave."

"No," Harry answered, holding on to the calm he had cultured over the last few minutes.

Draco stalked up to him, his eyes flashing, and he argued, "This is my fight, Potter."

"You made it ours the moment you asked."

Draco fell silent, lost for words at the clearly stated implications. Harry could see the turmoil that his admission caused; hope mixed with an instant guilt and Harry answered it with, "Moment by moment, Draco."

Then Harry did what he had been longing to do since he had been separated from Draco, he slid his hand round his companion's neck, running his fingers into soft blond hair, and he pulled lips into his own. For a second, Draco resisted, tense and still caught in confused remorse, but Harry was determined to chase it away. He wrapped his other arm around his partner and pressed close. The defence melted into an admission of need, and Draco reached back, parting his lips as Harry's touch requested.

To hell with tomorrow, all that mattered was the instant in which he stood, and Harry brushed his tongue against his lover's and let a pulse of pleasure run down his spine. Draco responded to his tremble and rubbed himself against Harry's groin, drawing out the desire from the base of his spine into the beginnings of an erection. He murmured his gratification. Draco broke the deep kiss for a moment, shifting position and running his fingers into Harry's thick hair: sensing the change, Harry let his partner steal control. He allowed his head to be tipped to one side and took Draco's tongue into his mouth. He was rewarded by the sensation of his partner's ardour hardening close to his, and trembles running up and down his body. Harry lost himself in the closeness as two figures moulded into one form. The sensations chased away the present, drawing him in to the heady, pulsating pleasure. Draco led expertly, enhancing their mutual excitement with perfect shifts of his body, brushes of his fingers, or flicks of his tongue. The less experienced man followed wherever he was drawn, letting his passion build.

Yet, it couldn't last, and suddenly his guide dropped away from Harry and he hit ground with a shock. Draco released his partner and stepped back, breathing hard. Harry just blinked at him for a moment, confused by the loss, but then a smile twitched at the corner of Draco's mouth.

"When this is over, we have to get a room," he murmured, his tones low and full of the ardour he had reigned in.

There was just the hint of his trepidation within Draco's manner, but Harry chose to focus on what had dimmed it to a shadow: he smiled back, and rubbed his companion's arm in one last show of affection.

The Heir's smile slipped then, and he glanced away. Harry was concerned that he had lost him again for a moment. Yet, when he looked back, Draco's passion had recreated a determination in his eyes which told Harry how much this young man wanted to live. There was no need for discussion on the matter at hand; Draco held out his wrists, his mind set. Harry drew his wand and looked down at the swirling patterns which never failed to make him angry. These bonds were an offence, against their victim, and against white magic, and with the indignation he felt at their use, Harry commanded them, "Dissuo."

A long second, nothing, the runes did not appear to react to his cast, and Harry glanced back up at Draco. Draco was a statue, staring right into his eyes, just waiting. Then the Auror saw it before he thought his charge had consciously registered anything. A cloud darkened Draco's ice blue gaze, and Harry moved as, finally, he heard Draco whine in response to the beginnings of what could be destruction or creation. Harry caught his lover as the afflicted man's legs buckled. He didn't try to stay upright, he just sank down to his knees in a more controlled manner than his companion could have managed and let Draco curl into him. The small sound was all that escaped Draco's lips, but his hands gripped Harry's robes like vices and he began to shake. His breath came in small hisses.

The resistance in Draco was admirable, as he almost silently bore a pain, that from the minute trembling it caused, felt to Harry like it could tear Draco apart. However, Harry saw the wall Draco was building, and something inside told him it was wrong. Draco was fighting release, whatever it brought, and his partner realised that he had to be the guide. Gently he wrapped his arms around the shudders in his lover and told him, "Let it out, Draco."

It started small, another whine, but Harry clung to his struggling companion as that sound became a scream of agony. Draco buried it in Harry's robes, out of control and terrified by it. His lover gave him all the succour he could in his touch, but he was outside of the changes and he could only listen as the cry continued. Something was building in Draco, and even as his breath ran out and the sound disappeared into gasps of hurt, it was still growing: Harry could feel it in the shudders of his partner. Draco's pain continued to come out of him, but in a long groan as he admitted his inability to cope with it, and he struggled against it.

"Don't fight it," Harry advised, following his instincts again.

Whether his advice did any good, it suddenly didn't matter anymore, as Draco convulsed violently and yelled again as visible magic forced its way out of his body. Harry felt his skin prickle, his eyes stung with an explosive light and then without his consent, he was flying backwards. He hit the wall, hard, and all the breath was forced out of his body; dazed, Harry landed in a heap, tangled in his robes, and he had no strength to untangle himself. Spots danced in front of his eyes, but he couldn't really see them, because bright, raw power was erupting from his lover and blinding the room. Feeling sick, and useless, the impact caught up with Harry, and he passed out with the sound of Draco's scream in his ears.


	23. Five Years Undone

Harry came round to his body tingling as if he'd been hit by ennervate; yet the feeling wasn't quite right, the left-over power running through him had not woken him, it had created the stupor, and it preserved the dullness in his mind. The young man groaned, moving slowly at first, as his body reminded him of how hard the impact against the wall had been. However, then his own low sound was drowned by a hoarse cry, and as Harry's brain caught up with how he had come to be in the untidy heap, he rapidly sat up. He struggled with the snarl of cloth which hampered his movements as he laid eyes on his lover. Draco was curled into a foetal ball, and the admission of pain which had come from him disappeared into an exhausted grunt as he buried his head into his knees and shook. The blinding light of however much earlier it had been was gone, but as the Draco's face disappeared from sight, Harry was in time to catch the same brilliance streaming out of Draco's eyes and open mouth.

Any caution in the young man went by the board as Harry registered his partner's agony. He scrabbled to his hands and knees and over to the magic-wracked victim. Harry paused only a second as he bent over the trembling form, considering if it was safe to touch him, and then he decided that it didn't matter. Desperate to offer any comfort he could, Harry grabbed his lover by the shoulders and hauled him up his body into his arms. Draco remained hunched around himself, but Harry felt a strange relief as he connected with the ailing man's tremors where his companion leant against him. His partner was tired, his exhaustion was tangible in the ragged, shallow breathing which only occasionally now gave him enough air to let out more than a thin moan. Sweat had drenched his weakening body, and Harry was unsure if the afflicted wizard was aware of him at all.

Harry just held his companion for a while, feeling impotent as he could do nothing to stop the violent spasms which came over Draco in waves. His lover grew more feeble with every attack, when magic, in the form of the white light poured out of his body and dissipated into the atmosphere, and even his scream would not come. Draco's head lolled back onto his lover's arm after one such attack, and the grey of his skin sent alarm bells ringing in Harry. Draco's brow creased with his internal struggle, but he did not even have the strength to curl over anymore. The excess power may have been coming out in the same isolated way in which it had entered Draco's body, as Ginny had predicted, but the stamina required to sustain the release was killing the young man as surely as if the magic itself had been attacking him. Harry knew he had to do something, or the battle would be the end of his lover, and that thought tore his heart to pieces. He could see that Draco was not going to survive many more attacks, and he searched his experience for a way to finish the expulsion of the magic quickly.

In the end, his solution was neither thought-out, nor from his personal experience, in fact, the young wizard acted on instinct. Draco was dying, Draco would be gone from his life if he couldn't help him, and that desperate thought touched something deep inside Harry. Rational thought failed him; he had nothing in his past to cope with the outrage which had been perpetrated against his lover. So he let the distant feeling of magical belonging rise from the depths of his soul: the young man searched for the very essence of what made him part of the magical world, the ability that set him apart from a muggle, and he asked that strength for help.

Draco, lying helplessly in his arms, tensed involuntarily, warning that another tide of escaping magic was on its way, and finally Harry acted. He had to take the magic, give it somewhere to go more quickly than mere assimilation back into the world. As the white light escaped from Draco's silent scream, Harry lifted his partner's face towards him, covered the open lips with his own and offered himself as a sink.

For a moment there was just a coldness to the damp contact of mouths, and the pause gave Harry time to wonder what he was doing. His gut said this was right, but his brain had no idea what was going on. Was he just trying to kiss his dying lover? That idea seemed absurd as soon as he had considered it, and then an answer was irrelevant. Harry felt Draco shift weakly beneath him, and then the power rushed between his lips, raw and uncontrolled. He started, and, as though electrocuted, his muscles locked the young wizard close to his partner. Physical control gone, Harry looked to that place of magic, somewhere deep inside himself. The innate truth of his wizarding heritage hooked on to the rampant enchantment that was escaping from his lover and invited it in.

That was as much control as Harry was allowed.

If he made any sound, Harry didn't hear it. If his eyes were open, there was nothing but the bright white of the magic before them. The tsunami-like wave of magic drowned him in its influence and with a thrill of abandon, Harry surrendered to the flow. There was nothing inside the onslaught except savage, untamed magic and Harry's pulse raced in time with the supernatural rush as body and soul became one. He could sense the danger of the contact, yet still the wizard called, open to the power of his ancestry, wanting it, demanding it with a recklessness which threatened to destroy him. This was the energy behind every spell, that ran through the universe unseen, unfocused, and it was intoxicating.

Harry finally understood the mixture of pain and pleasure that he had witnessed in Draco at the investiture. Magic was part of his very being, and even as it threatened to tear him apart, that essence in his spirit danced with a life he had never before experienced. The ferocity excited every fibre of his body, and woke his mind to instincts against which sanity would have protected him. This is what it meant to be magical, this was the naked power that evolution had covered in layers of civilisation; there were no obstructive incantations here, just force of will, and the freedom was wonderful.

Yet freedom had its price. Raw power had many edges, and they cut quickly at human frailty. As surely as Draco had succumbed to the destruction in the power, so did Harry. The tumult ripped at his being, and even as his spirit still cantered beside the power, his body weakened. Harry reached for the savage strength, but without physical vigour to sustain it, his soul was rejected by the dance. The young wizard sank back down into his body, and felt the feebleness which the rush had hidden from him. The flow of the power continued unchecked, but now sickness replaced the euphoria as Harry was battered by the current, caught like a piece of flotsam in its force. He could hear his own groan now, he could feel the shaking of his limbs, and the weight that was Draco's unmoving form felt impossibly heavy in his arms. Harry struggled to keep hold of his lover.

Elation became pain, and thrill became the knowledge of death close by. There was no-one to stop this onslaught, this wasn't a controlled environment like the ceremony in the Great Hall, this was a self-destructive spiral, and Harry knew it as lead ran through his veins. He struggled, and pulled his face away from his lover's, but it didn't halt the flow of magic from body to body, the relentless stream of energy kept coming as the five years of bondage was undone. Harry still couldn't see, his eyes were blinded by the brightness which came from Draco in an endless stream under the remnants of his command, and that beautiful light was going to kill them both. The young man couldn't hold on to his partner anymore, and he felt him slip back down his knees; helplessly, as his body refused to obey him, Harry followed the fall, and toppled over, collapsing next to Draco.

Harry shuddered, and fought to draw a breath into his lungs. There was nothing now, nothing except his body and that of his lover close to him and the magic which linked him to their mutual death. No more exhilaration, just the burning of a demand that was too strong for mortal man. Harry closed his eyes against the searing light, and felt the eerie sensation of his body convulsing against the intrusion without his consent. Was it time to surrender? The young man's spasm brought his hand up against Draco's chest, and Harry felt a desperate, unsteady expansion against his fingers; his lover was still fighting, and Harry felt strangely pathetic when he considered how much longer than himself his friend had been battling with the magic. This wasn't a time to die, it was a time to win, and Harry reached back inside to the part of himself which had started this self-destructive road. His own magic lay in the heart of the tumult, still truly his own, a power that would listen to his command, and he spoke through it to the destruction which ravaged his body. His plea was not complex, he just asked the damage to stop.

Magic entwined with magic, spirit with raging nature, and then Harry did surrender. The young wizard had thought himself completely open to the rush of power, but as he relaxed into the union of soul and energy, the sensation opened his mind still further. The power was no longer just coursing through him like he was a conduit; it surrounded every thought as well as every fibre. The wanton abandon was gone, replaced by a heady peace, and contentedly, Harry knew he wasn't alone here. The wizard felt, rather than heard Draco's heart beating in time with his own, strong, even, sustained by the change in their environment, and it reassured any qualms he had about the strangeness of the new calm. He was as distant from the world as he had been in the grips of the storm, but this place was warm, nurturing; something had changed the nature of the power, and Harry wasn't sure if it had been his plea, or some natural progression, but it felt right. Harry was tired, exhausted by the magic which now controlled him, but within it and part of it at the same time, he felt Draco, and he felt safe. He knew as little about where this new sensation was taking him, as he had about the tidal wave of only seconds earlier, but as much as that had been dangerous, Harry knew this was safe. Comforted by the gentle rhythm of Draco's pulse, Harry let what senses he had left drift away.

* * *

Going from sleeping to waking happened instantaneously: it wasn't like waking from ordinary slumber, one moment he was in soft blackness, the next, Harry opened his eyes and sat up. He paused in the sitting position a moment, letting his brain catch up with being conscious, a little unnerved by the sudden, and complete, transition back to reality. The world swam with the speed at which he had righted himself, and the young man placed a hand on the floor to remain steady; as he locked his elbow, Harry was surprised to find his arm strong and sure. The weakness, which he remembered very clearly, was gone, only the memory of the tide which had created it remained, and that contrast told his instincts that time had passed.

The shock wore off very rapidly at the sound of a low moan of distress, and Harry remembered his companion. Draco was still lying beside him, giving no sign of transitioning between waking and sleeping. However, his body was no longer contorted with pain, nor was there any visible magic emptying itself from the blond wizard, and Harry was relieved to conclude that he was no longer fighting for his life. Still, Harry bent over his friend protectively, and he recognised the condition in which the retreat of the magic had left him; Draco was deep in sleep, but his sharp features were set in a frown in response to something in his mind. The small complaint, which had come through his slumber, was repeated, and the pale face creased further into disquiet. Harry knew the beginnings of a nightmare when he saw one, and, recalling his own uncomfortable nights, he placed a hand on his lover's shoulder to wake him from the images before they truly began.

The touch was not received passively: Draco rolled away from it, batting at Harry's hand, and his arms came up over his face protectively as he pleaded, "Father, no!"

Harry could only guess at what caused the defensive posture, but he had plenty of experience of Lucius to feed his imagination, and anger mixed with a vulnerability which he shared with his lover when it came to the vicious elder Malfoy. His teeth gritted instinctively as Draco flinched away from something only he could see, and Harry reached for him again, certain that it could only be bad for the dream to continue. However, his fingers stubbed painfully against the air inches from the sleeping form, and he withdrew them again, sticking them in his mouth as they smarted. The air shimmered where he had touched it, a subtle warning of a barrier which had not been present a moment ago.

The wandless magic was a shock, but Harry was slowly beginning to realise that the raw energy with which he and Draco were dealing had its own rules. Whatever remained inside his lover had drawn up the shield in response to the disquiet on his sleeping features. It may have therefore been an immediate hindrance, but compared with the hunched, out-of-control victim's responses the improvement was an overall boon. Harry was annoyed by the invisible force between him and his partner and perturbed by the anxiety in Draco's sleep, but both emotions were kept under control by the knowledge of the recovery already gained.

Harry took his fingers out of his mouth and resorted to a vocal call, "Draco."

The only response was a frown, and the watcher was almost certain that the expression had more to do with the nightmare than any awareness Draco had of his presence. The sleeper had lowered his arms, but his whole body remained tense against the scene playing in his head. Harry felt his own limbs going rigid with the emotions that just witnessing the nightmare inspired in him. He may have been dealing with his dreams without potions now, but their effect on him had not diminished, and the wounds were raw and very fresh.

"I won't!" came breathily from Draco's lips, and Harry's defence mechanisms ghosted the unhappy defiance in his friend as it inspired memories of his torturers' games.

"Draco!" he demanded more loudly as his need to protect his lover also became a need to protect himself, and he pushed his palm flat and hard against the magical barrier.

Still no response.

The sound choked in Draco's throat, and his eyes opened, but Harry knew they didn't see him; they were damp, glistening in the artificial light of their private universe, and the watcher recognised the disbelief in them. He knew the shattering of trust and the horror of how awful reality can be. He leant on the wall and closed his eyes as fear came through Draco's gasp and sent a shiver through his body.

"My Lord."

Harry sat back, startled by a reverence and terror that suddenly his lover displayed. His forehead scar twinged, and, instantly, he knew what Draco was seeing, he knew the face that had to be in his mind's eye, supercilious and dominating; he hated it and felt illogically betrayed by the subservience in the sleeper. Voldemort was at the centre of this horror: nothing else could conjure such dread and Death Eater respect at the same time. The Draco lying just out of reach was not the man of today, he was the eighteen-year-old faced with his Master for the first and last time. Draco had given him no details about the night he had met the monster who had condemned him to understand the position of a victim, but Harry didn't need details to comprehend what had passed between master and slave.

"No," the dreamer objected, his sound quiet, dominated, but full of the dreadfulness of what he was facing.

Draco lay still for a moment, only his head moving almost imperceptibly from side to side in incredulity and his mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Harry watched every defence the young man had crumble to nothing, every belief draining from his being alongside the colour from his cheeks, and he thumped on the barrier, his need to reach his lover growing stronger by the second.

"Draco, wake up!" Harry called desperately, wanting to stop the anguish which filled the space between them.

Yet his companion couldn't hear him, all his senses were focused inward, and Harry's pounding barely impinged on the invisible rock. Then, suddenly, things reached a head; Draco convulsed, and his scream cut the air. Harry froze as the strangled sound contained one word, a vulnerable, distressed, frantic call for help in the form of, "Father!"

Harry had only witnessed the hatred and psychosis that had existed between parent and child five years later, but the cry which now rang in his ears told him what had given birth to that enmity. This was when Draco's world had shattered, when he had found himself totally alone. The grief in that scream brought out every ounce of fight that Harry had in him, and he pushed his whole body against the barrier one more time. Finally, the shield gave, and the fighter reached to defend his trapped companion. Harry grabbed Draco's shoulders, leaning over him and shaking as he urged, "Draco, wake up, please wake up."

Draco's contorted features softened into open shock, and his cry died as dazed comprehension of reality clouded his eyes. He blinked up at Harry, confused, and clearly lost between memory and the present.

"Draco, it's me, Harry," the young wizard tried to sound as calm as possible, recalling his own need for stability on coming out of his dreams. "You were having a nightmare."

Draco frowned, but didn't speak; behind the ice blue eyes, Harry could see the memories playing over again in the conscious mind, and he recognised his partner's defence mechanisms rising to meet them. Part of him wanted that protection to work, to take the raw emotions away from them both and hide them safely behind walls, but most of him hated the layers which would also conceal the person for whom he cared.

"What happened when He marked you?" Harry asked deliberately.

Silence. Draco closed his eyes, a frown of pain and betrayal on his features, and his companion regretted his bluntness as he lost access to the windows of his lover's soul.

"Don't shut me out," he almost begged, "I want to understand."

Yet Draco's answer was a violent shove, and Harry fell away into a sprawl. He sunk into the padded flooring, guilt at the selfishness in his actions stopping him from resisting the rejection. The awakening man turned away from his companion, and Harry's emotions knotted in his chest. He wanted to make it better, he wanted to take his lover in his arms and show him how much he cared, but the dismissal made him aware of how much of that need came from his own egocentricity and not out of altruism for his comrade. So he just watched, unsure of his motivations, as Draco pulled himself onto his hands and knees.

Draco was visibly shivering, and Harry's guilt magnified as he assessed how greatly this memory, which he had demanded come fully into Draco's conscious thoughts, affected the man.

[Some help, I am,] the wizard chided himself.

However, as the mental reproaches piled up in Harry's brain, they were interrupted by one small sound.

"Harry," Draco coughed, his voice thin and faltering, but unmistakably a plea for help.

Draco retched: Harry's forehead more than twinged this time, it burned, and he realised how badly he had misinterpreted the situation. He scrabbled onto his knees again, relief mixing with concern, as he recognised the sickness as the reason for Draco's push. Draco's arms wobbled as he gagged again, and Harry took hold of his shoulders supportively. The afflicted man choked, and a spasm ran out from his abdomen up to his throat which took away any strength he had had to hold himself up. Harry took the strain, and let the shaking run through him, as the fourth heave began. This time, Draco's body expelled fluid, but it was like no ordinary vomit. A shiny black substance fell from between his lips, its travel faintly unnatural. The liquid ran over itself, descending slowly, globulous and obstructive to the retching man. Harry had never been squeamish, but something in the bile spoke to the magical part of him and made his stomach turn. He resisted the urge to join his companion in throwing up and just held on to him tighter, aware that as with everything else so far, magic was running through the sickness.

Draco coughed, unable to get his breath as the stream of fluid continued from his mouth. The jet surface seemed to be flowing almost without the man's heaving now he had begun the expulsion. He, his face becoming strikingly scarlet against his white hair as his air supply was cut off. Yet the stream continued. Draco shuddered, and fought against the closing of his airway, unable to stop the gagging and Harry began to worry. Yet he had to be the strong one, and resolutely, he wrapped his arm around his lover's chest and rubbed his now spare hand up his back.

"Try and let it happen," he advised as calmly as he could, keeping an eye on the colour of Draco's face.

Draco made comment by grabbing hard on the supporting arm and burying his nails through the cloth of the shirt. He coughed, and another convulsion ran from his belly up to his throat. This time, Harry followed the movement with the stroke of his palm, and Draco almost hung over his arm as the black mass left his body. Still, with a final choke, the worst passed. To his partner's relief, Draco spat the last of the light-absorbing substance out of his mouth and gasped in much needed oxygen. Harry continued to rub his back as he shuddered and heaved in automatic, but there was no more molasses, only spittle, and Harry was glad as Draco's breathing settled.

Draco groaned, still bending heavily over the support he had been given. Harry leant forward to check on the half-hidden face, and was satisfied to see the redness leaving the white skin. However, the young man's own flesh was still crawling, and after the quick examination of his distracted charge, he found his eyes being drawn to the dark mass that Draco had expunged from his system. At first, Harry thought his eyes were playing tricks as the light moved on the jet surface. However, then he rapidly hauled himself and Draco away as a better inspection told him that he had indeed been correct, and the large globule was moving. Draco froze in his arms where they landed, a few feet away from the strange vomit, and his gaze transfixed on the black puddle.

Without its creator close by, the fluid seemed to raise a protest. Harry reached carefully inside his robes for his wand as he watched the surface erupt into the air. The gloss moved like treacle, but treacle containing a force all of its own, stretching upwards in large spouts, reaching out to the world in search of its master. This was bad magic, as he watched it and felt the burning from his enemy's mark on his own body pulse in tandem, Harry knew without a doubt: black magic. The potent morass reached its limit at about a foot from the ground, its surface stretched desperately out from the source, and Harry clung protectively to his lover as he felt the magic reach out for its host. The mass writhed in the air, twisting around itself in angry folds, as its hunt proved fruitless, faster and faster it undulated in rage. Draco was shaking badly in his hold, and the Harry's repugnance for the expelled form came out in a need to protect. He wrapped his companion closer in his arms, placing his body around him as well, and held him tight. Draco didn't seem to respond, he was mesmerized by the display before him, and his horror was all too evident.

Appalled silence fell between the two men as each watched the sickening squirming of the darkness before them. Each glistening twist made Harry's skin crawl, and he found himself looking at it only out of the corner of his eye, but still fascinated with the sheer amount of life it showed.

"Twenty-first of June, Summer Solstice, my birthday, and the manor was humming," Draco began without warning, his tone subdued, as if he was talking to himself, but he huddled closer to his protector, "I was having the time of my life. I'd finished my last exam the day before, and I was enjoying the fact that I'd been granted an Early Exeunt Pass and was at home for my birthday not stuck in my dorm studying. Lucius had promised he would be there, and I was so excited, it had been difficult to see him since he'd escaped from Azkaban. Mother came and found me, I was mouthing off to Crabbe and Goyle about how great it was going to be, now we were free from bloody school. I didn't realise it at the time, I was too happy when she told me that Lucius was waiting for me in his study, but she was trying not to cry. I ran off with my friends to meet him, didn't even give her a second glance, and that was the last time I saw her."

The young man paused, gulping in an unsteady breath. His shaking had eased a little, but he still stared ahead at the warped pool of magic. Harry just held him, knowing he could do nothing to ease the self-loathing that came through his partner's manner. This was old emotion, and like the darkness before it, the wizard sensed that it had to come out.

"I bounded into that room like I was a child again, and I hugged him. He took me in his arms, no warning of what was coming and told me that it was time I knew some things. Goyle closed the door: I didn't notice that either, the pair of them, _my_ cronies, were hovering, silent, they had been all night: they knew. I listened eagerly, glad that my father was finally taking me in to his confidence. He hadn't allowed me to get the Dark Mark, had said at the time that it would have been too dangerous, him being such a wanted man, even when Crabbe and Goyle had been given it when they came of age, but that wasn't why."

The anger in Draco as he remembered seemed reflected in the expelled malignance; the tendrils stretched up and snapped back as he glared at them. Harry bit his tongue, he wanted to offer words of comfort, but the atmosphere held him back.

"He pulled back a curtain on the wall behind his desk; there was a door I'd never seen before. I followed him like the sacrificial lamb and I was taken down a staircase and into what he said had once been a dungeon. The place was lit by hundreds of black candles, they were glowing purple and I could feel the magic around me. At first I was excited, awed by it all, but when we got to the centre of the room, Lucius turned to me and told me to take off my shirt. I'd never heard him so cold, and the way he looked at me then, I didn't know him. I was too shocked to obey, and he snapped, he told me that if I didn't remove the shirt myself, Crabbe would do it for me."

Harry had to force himself not to tremble as his companion's recollection woke his own nightmares of Lucius Malfoy. Draco's tone held more hurt now, and the young man could hear the shattering of his beliefs in his lover's words. He just held the elfin form to him and hoped his presence would help.

"I took off my shirt, and I asked why. Lucius walked away from me, and he started going on about 'The Cause', and how everything was being done to cleanse this world of the filth which had contaminated it. He went on about Voldemort, about how great he was, and how he had been his loyal follower for so long. Then he smiled at me. The look in his eyes was maniacal, I didn't recognise him, and he told me that I had been bred for this moment. I didn't understand, little fool that I was, I just looked at him, confused. So he proudly rammed the message home, he told me exactly how The Dark Lord had come to him and said that he wanted a body, a powerful body for when his present one grew too feeble and then he told me that he had agreed to breed him one. I had been planned very carefully, magic used to control the exact time of my conception and birth in order to get the most powerful wizard possible out of the Malfoy line.

I couldn't believe it, I stood there and listened, but I didn't believe what he was telling me, I couldn't. He got angry when he talked about how the plans had gone wrong, you defeating Voldemort. He said that I should have been prepared for this from the moment I was born, but that he foolishly let my mother persuade him that they had to move past their plans, that they had a wonderful son and times had changed. I asked him what was happening, I still couldn't comprehend it."

The darkness oozed and writhed on itself, even as Draco's emotions left anger behind, descending into muted horror. Harry just felt sick.

"Lucius told me that it was time to start the process, and that it would be more difficult now that my body was adult. He was so detached, proud of what he was doing, he didn't seem to think of me as his son anymore. I turned away from him, and I would have run, but then I saw Him. He'd been stood in a corner all the time, tall and skeletal like a grotesque statue. He came into the light, and those red eyes pinned me down. I wouldn't have moved, even if Crabbe and Goyle hadn't taken hold of me. It was just a big nightmare. He greeted me, and I grovelled, just like I had been trained to do. He laughed, and complimented Lucius on the manners he'd ingrained in me. Then he came up to me.

Something inside me moved, I reacted and he saw. He told me that he'd been there at my conception and at my birth, he said that he'd put part of himself into me, that I was his. He put out his palm and touched my chest and it moved again: every bad thought, every hex, every curse I had ever cast responded to him as master, and I couldn't fight it. I could feel it creeping from every part of me, down to his touch, forming into reality under his will. It hurt, and I was so scared. I screamed for my father, but he just stood there, watching and smiling, adoring his master. I passed out."

The black mass sagged unexpectedly as Draco's tone became flat. It's fight died a little and the folds grew more slowly.

"When I woke up, I wasn't at home, I was in a strange bed. Luxury like always, but this time the bedroom door was locked. I couldn't feel it anymore, but I knew it was there, he'd marked me to make sure I remembered every detail of his touch. And the bind runes were on my wrists.

It all started then, visits from Death Eaters and magical beings allied with Voldemort, all to put magic in to me. And that," he raised his hand and pointed to the undulating darkness, "drew it all together ready for Him."

The magic reached out to its host's gesture, and Harry quickly slid his palm over the back of Draco's hand, entwining his fingers and drawing his arm back against him body.

"It's out now, you got rid of it," he soothed the self-disgust in the body close to his, and in a moment of inspiration, told his lover, "Let it die."

Draco shuddered uncontrollably, but Harry could feel the tension slipping out of his partner with every tremble, and it eased his own emotions. He let the knot of feelings, which Draco's admissions had inspired, drain away, and turned his attention defiantly to the source of Draco's slavery. For a moment its fight seemed to increase, and it convulsed wildly as if it knew its destruction was imminent: Harry tensed with the pain in his forehead. Draco drew in a deep breath, and the writhing stopped as suddenly as it had begun; as he let the air out again, the glistening morass wilted. Globular tendrils, which had been reaching up and out, drooped, their vigour lost, and Harry smiled to himself, as he recognised evil's power waning.

Slowly, the darkness sunk back, folding over itself, as its links to its host were severed. The surface became smooth and glassy, a harmless puddle of blackness, and then Draco turned away from it. He grabbed his lover, and buried his head in his shoulder, as still as the pool of Voldemort's power. Harry wrapped him in his arms, and watched, as, moment by moment, the evil died. Rejected and weakening, it barely registered as dangerous, but his scar was still twinging, and the well-trained Auror kept his eye firmly on the foe until the polished surface cracked and dissolved. He felt the last of his own unease die, and his forehead cooled, as the black magic disappeared into the atmosphere; he kept any other emotion away by hiding his own face in his lover's neck. He laid a gentle kiss on the warm, pale skin and then just held close.


	24. Searching for Control

Harry sat a little way away from his companion, just watching. Draco had broken away from him a few minutes after he had taken the comfort, and Harry could understand why. Draco wanted control, he was searching for his strength of purpose, and it had come out in anger at the weakness he was showing. The thought that they had both been fated since birth, one by prophecy, the other by design, had also made Harry angry. Yet, the universe was too amorphous to really inspire his rage, and he had faced his own ire at being controlled by destiny a long time ago. Instead, the young man had felt the need to share the knowledge of the Prophecy with his lover, and he had been ready when the blond man had sat back. Yet one look in those ice eyes had told Harry that now was not the right time. A flare of silent, illogical anger had taken Draco away from him, and the old-Gryffindor had bitten down on the need he felt to coddle the vulnerability that lay behind it. He had sunk down as observer, ignoring his own needs and waiting for the moment when he could guide again.

Draco was staring fixedly at the wall, his face thunderous, but he had said nothing for a while. Then, suddenly, as though catching up with everything that had happened, he observed, "I can feel the magic inside now. It won't settle, it keeps moving and it won't leave me alone, but it doesn't want to come out."

Harry blinked away his stupor as bright eyes once more turned to him. Draco's stare was quizzical, as though waiting for a reply to his comment. Harry couldn't find one, and it appeared that the young Malfoy did not, at the moment, have much patience, because he grimaced in annoyance and met his own reasoning with, "It's dangerous, I can't control it, I have to control it."

Harry sat forward, catching the determination in his companion and using it to fuel his own.

"Can I help?" he asked.

Draco raised an eyebrow, and Harry had a chilling recollection of Lucius, but the father's disdain was halted in the son by a glimmer of recollection in his eyes.

"When the magic was coming out, you called it, you took it inside you," Draco's stare widened as thoughts of those moments obviously made sense for the first time.

Harry wasn't sure if he was being accused or thanked.

"Don't you feel it too?" Draco asked, a need in his voice for affirmation.

Oddly guilty, Harry shook his head; his body was still tingling with the ghost of the tumult which had entered his being, but he could sense none of its influence.

"I think it went straight through," he replied, half glad it was gone, half mourning the loss of its intensity, however devastating.

Draco's response was a frown, and he turned away. Yet Harry had done enough watching, and now he had been engaged, he did not want to return to passive observation.

"Draco," he drew his distracted companion's attention, and waited calmly until the blue gaze was on him, "I'm here to help: anything you need."

The man was still frowning, unsure of himself and Harry. However, it was clear his brain was working furiously, and at a loss himself, Harry just waited. It took only moments before the silence was broken again.

"You remember those concentration techniques Prof Cerebus used to preach in the Sixth year Dark Arts?" the young man pressed Harry's memory, suddenly excited by an idea.

The Gryffindor nodded, even as his foggy recollections searched around for the details.

"Focus on the light?"

Harry's brain handed him the connection, and he began to remember the hours of sitting staring at candles and chanting. Draco nodded, the idea inspiring his will power as it developed and spreading hope across his sharp features.

"Be my guide," he requested quietly.

Without a second thought, Harry nodded again.

Harry uncurled, and moved across to his companion. In seconds, both men were sat cross-legged and facing each other in the middle of the room. This had felt silly when he and Ron had tried it in class, rating alongside Trelawney's hocus pocus, but now Harry went about it with much more conviction. He drew his wand and with a flick of his wrist, the sourceless light of their universe came down, and the tip of the wand lit up.

"You ready?" Harry asked purposefully, and met Draco's gaze.

For a moment those bright eyes were clouded again, but Harry was warmed by the strength with which his companion chased away his demons. Draco nodded.

"Draco, listen only to my voice," he began, searching for the smooth timbre Cerebus has taught long years ago, and steadying the wand in front of him in both hands. "Take a deep breath and focus on the light."

He paused and listened to the sound of the air entering Draco's lungs.

"Now let it out slowly and the light will become your only thought."

Harry watched as his companion's eyes fixed on the glowing wand.

"Take in another breath. Hold it, two... three... four... five, and let it out, two... three... four... five."

Harry found his own words beginning to have an effect on himself and he felt his shoulders relax.

* * *

"...You are standing in front of a lake," Harry found his voice almost chanting as he drew Draco on into his subconscious.

The guide didn't know if he was imagining things, but his own psyche felt rooted into the meditation as firmly as if he had been on the path down which he had taken his lover. He could not see the exact images his words had conjured in Draco's thoughts, but he could feel Draco's magic reacting to them. So close to the mesmerised man, Harry could sense the movements of the magic his partner had spoken of, or at least his awareness had opened up so that he was in tune with Draco's own sense of the magic.

Harry made a quick visual check of his companion's face, to back up the instinct he had of how deep Draco was now under his influence; the blue eyes were looking within now, the wand's light having served it's purpose except to maintain the glow that Harry used to verify his progress.

"This is your power lake," the Auror continued, thankful for his memory of the visual tool Hermione had once tried on a very ungracious friend. "The air is calm, the waters are still and as clear as crystal. All that is within you is within these waters, and you control them, what is within them, and what can break the surface. Nothing can leave this lake without your command."

Harry paused again, it was crunch time. If the visualisation was working as well as his intuition was telling him it was, Draco was now relaxed and facing what could be his nemesis or his ally. The calm of the thin face belied the danger that Harry knew he was now in. One more step, and whatever was inside Draco would become conscious thought. Harry took in a silent breath and continued, "When you look in to the water, you will see the power within you. Look into the water, Draco."

Harry concentrated on his companion's expression for any sign of a break in his composure; it came as expected, Draco's eyes widened, and his breathing faltered. Harry felt his own stomach lurch as the current of power in the atmosphere hiccupped.

"What do you see?" Harry asked quickly, stifling his own reaction.

No response, just a gasp of an emotion that could have been horror or ecstasy, the watcher could not tell.

"Draco, what do you see?" Harry demanded, still calm, but with more authority.

The hypnotised form shuddered, and his eyes narrowed, but eventually he admitted, his voice thin, "Nothing, can't see anything, darkness."

"Why is it dark?" Harry pressed, understanding the interruption in the smooth flow that had been their journey so far, and surprising himself with a sudden insight into how to tackle it.

"Evil," Draco choked.

"What is evil?" Harry challenged, already knowing the answer, and his heart tore as the admission came, "I am."

The pain in the young features opposite made Harry want to reach out and comfort his friend, but the Auror battened down his own defences knowing he could not afford to break the trance with his touch.

"No, Draco, not true," he commanded emphatically. "The lake is crystal clear, neither good nor evil. Make the lake go clear, Draco."

"I can't," came the hopeless response and wet eyes reflected in the glow.

"Why not?" Harry would not let up; he knew Draco would never forgive him if the vision quest failed because of his weakness.

"I --," the troubled explorer struggled with his psyche, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words.

Harry could feel the fight, his stomach knotted with the conflict in his lover, but he still bullied, "Why, Draco?"

"I'm afraid," the admission came in a rush, and tears began to flow down the afflicted man's cheeks.

"There is no reason to be afraid," Harry settled a little as one hurdle was overcome, and he felt the tension begin to release; he kept his voice strong, but calm as he continued, "The lake is yours, Draco, you control it, you can see what is within the waters without fear, let the fear go."

No more words came from the struggling figure, his lungs just gasped in air as he fought the internal battle. His head moved slightly from side to side, denying his own strength, but Harry took comfort in the focus of Draco's expressive eyes, which remained fixedly ahead.

"Clear the waters, Draco, see what is below the surface," the guide forced his charge on.

Suddenly the journey ended. Draco went rigid and his eyes widened again as clarity hit. Harry felt his own muscles tensing at the almost tangible stress in his partner, but he still dared not move: Draco had to break the vision himself. The young Auror could only watch as his entranced charge found his own way. Harry was not expecting the scream which grew from Draco's throat. It was not a cry of fear, or pain, even as it held qualities of both, but it was a cry of sheer abandon, and as Draco moved, Harry's instincts yelled at him to get out of its way.

Thanking his quick-trained reactions, Harry threw himself sideways as a stream of raw magic cut the air where he had just been sitting. He stayed in his untidy pile, and glared up at Draco. Yet any immediate anger he felt at the near miss evaporated as the power source for the eruption became apparent. This was not a random release of light like last time, this was a power that came from sheer will, and all Harry's shock drained away into wonder as he saw magic controlled without the aid of a wand. The fountain of light was coming from Draco's cupped hands, which were pointing out from his mid-chest. The energy was still raw, still unfocused, and Harry could feel the raging tsunami boil in his blood in response to the recklessness of the new power. However, the magic was, this time, very definitely under command, Draco's command, of that Harry was certain as he gazed at the concentration in the ice blue eyes and tuned in to the strength such control was taking.

However, the intense application did not last. The savagery of the magic got the better of its host and Draco's yell dried up as he was pulled out of the vision which aided his control; he blinked and glanced at the space where Harry had been when this had started. Then he searched a moment until his eyes came to rest on his crumpled companion. Finally, he looked down at the stream of magic, vaguely bemused, and clearly appalled by its dangerous strength. Harry's being twinged as emotion destroyed the last of Draco's jurisdiction over his own power. The guide guessed the back fire was coming, and he just pulled his robe up over his face. Even behind the material, he felt the sudden wave of air and heat as Draco lost control and magic exploded. There was surprisingly little sound, just a grunt and the slap of body onto canvas, but Harry waited for that sound to die in his ears before he came out from cover.

With a wave of his wand, he raised the lights again. Harry then pursed his lips and grimaced his concern, but did not move too fast. Draco was out cold, sprawled on the cushioned floor where the psychic blast had left him, but his chest was rising and falling and the ghost of a smile was across his lips. With this visual assurance, the young Auror indulged in a moment to catch up with himself and realised a little smugly, that they had been successful. They had taken the first step towards controlling the time bomb inside Draco, and they were both still breathing.

Harry smiled.

* * *

Draco had looked so peaceful, just lying there, but Harry had remembered his lifesavers' course he'd done at school before Hogwarts, and dutifully pulled his unconscious companion into the recovery position. So now, he was sat next to the recumbent form, checking his breathing every so often and waiting for him to wake up. However, a distraction came from another source; the voice of Albus Dumbledore rolled gently into the room.

"Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, can you hear me?" the husky tones greeted formally.

"Yes, Albus," Harry responded, "I can, but Draco is unconscious."

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that. I apologise for the intrusion, Harry," Albus continued, as if he had just interrupted a tea party, "but you and Mr Malfoy have been isolated for over eight hours, and since our links are now detecting little magical activity, we thought it would be prudent to take the opportunity to request a status report."

"We're winning, Albus," the young wizard responded, not hiding the hope in his voice. "The excess magic is out, and Draco made contact with what is left a few minutes ago."

"Excellent news!" Harry thought he heard pride in the old Professor's smooth timbre.

A low groan stopped the Auror from continuing the conversation, and he shifted to help Draco as his charge moved.

"I have to go, he's coming round," Harry explained as he brushed the hair lovingly out of his dopey friend's eyes.

"Good, good, then we shall leave you to it. I wish you continued success, Boys," and then Harry knew Dumbledore was gone.

"Did he just call us Boys?" came the hazily indignant response from a slowly stirring Malfoy.

Harry laughed, and observed, "When you're Dumbledore's age, you can call any man a boy."

Draco hrpmhed his response and then tried to sit up. His companion grabbed his shoulders as the struggling man's arms wobbled, and he accepted help the rest of the way into an upright position. Once more still, Draco's mind moved on to other matters, and Harry saw his memory kick in. He tried to head off any guilt Draco might have been feeling, with a bright smile, and he disclosed, "You did it."

"We did it," the sincere response came, and Draco's fingers found Harry's.

Harry happily let the warmth run out from his chest as his companion's digits entwined with his own, and he leant in for a kiss. The caress was gentle, a brushing of lips, enough for Harry to make a statement of his feelings, but then he pulled back, aware of Draco's fragile state.

"I won't break," the blond man pouted at his partner's extra care; Harry just smiled, glad that there was now time for petulance.

Draco's features straightened then, and a depth came to his eyes which caught Harry by surprise. He accepted the soft stroke of fingers on his cheek, and then leant back against the long digits as they slipped behind his head.

"I should have said this earlier. Thank you for taking the magic, I couldn't have put up with much more," his lover spoke earnestly, and he showed Harry all the emotions that concept inspired in him; guilt and gratitude and disbelief and remembered pain all mixed into the connection.

Harry didn't reply, he just closed his eyes and received the new kiss which followed. Draco proceeded to demonstrate to his companion exactly how much he wouldn't break.

Harry revelled in the moment, the intimacy bringing out his instincts for Draco's released magic. The power was almost palpable, not at the same levels of the expulsion, but more of a suggestion, that spoke to the root of the young wizard's own being. Harry was glad that he could still reach the core of the wizard in himself, now that he had found it, and he let it echo the call he had made hours earlier. Draco's attentions intensified as Harry was heard, and he smiled through the kiss, glad that he had a little something left from the unique experience, and more than satisfied by the resultant ardour.

Yet, Draco had noticed he was being influenced at a fundamental level, and after indulging in the caress for a few moments, much to Harry's disappointment, he broke the kiss.

"What did you do?" Draco asked, his eyes shining with a speculative wonder.

"Used my instincts," Harry answered plainly, grinning cheekily.

"No instinct I've ever felt," Draco smirked, a little incredulous, but his gaze also held a contemplative aspect as if he were running the feeling back through his mind.

"Yes, well I may not have any of that magic you were giving away left in me, but I seem to know how to find it in you," the young man returned, draping his arms over his companion's shoulders, pausing an inch from Draco's face and waiting leisurely for him to close the rest of the distance.

Out of focus he may have been, but Harry couldn't fail to see the gleam in his lover's eye and he was ready for the embrace that enwrapped him as Draco showed that he liked that concept.

* * *

Harry adjusted his hold around Draco's shoulders as he realised he couldn't feel his fingers anymore. Draco sat up at his movement, his face suggesting that a similar tingling was going on in his limbs as then began in Harry's. They had been snuggled together against the wall for a while, basking in the glow of what had turned into a prolonged smooch. It had been wonderful to reaffirm the bond they had made while Voldemort's prisoners, and as they had slowly settled into the ruffled hug, neither had wanted to disturb the peace that had accompanied it. As before, the touch had banished everything but the sensation and emotions it inspired, and Harry had kept away his thoughts in the comfortable haze that had followed it. However, as they moved, Harry's mind began turning again, and he knew it was time to be the guide once more. Pushing any regret to the back of his mind, he forced himself to return to the reason they were sat in isolation.

Draco didn't say anything as he glanced across at his companion, but Harry knew those bright blue eyes had seen the return of reality in him. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around his lover's, unwilling to let go of the warmth their touch inspired in him, but, still he broke the silence gently with, "Can you tell me what you saw in the waters?"

Draco looked away, stifling a grimace, for what Harry couldn't be sure, but his voice was strong as he answered, "It was too deep, there was so much, it didn't make sense."

Harry squeezed his companion's finger supportively, and countered, "You must have made some sense of it to have created that flame."

"I just grabbed some of it and pushed it out," Draco admitted, his sound frustrated as he finally looked back at Harry and let him see the concern in his eyes. "I didn't do anything with it, except nearly fry you."

Harry headed-off any guilt in Draco before it surfaced, and pressed on, "At least you got it out, it means you controlled it. You just need a little focus."

The blond man snorted at that, and he chuckled as he observed, "Maybe we should erect some blast shields while I find it."

"Maybe I should just sit out of the way," Harry returned with an easy smile, determined to be positive.

* * *

"I can't do it!" Draco complained, his fists thumping the floor as his eyes snapped open for the umpteenth time.

"Just relax," Harry reassured from his new, safer position off to the side of his friend's mediations.

He was finding his patience to be a lot greater than his companion's, and had chosen the role of restraint and perspective as Draco thundered through his mental exercises.

"You're trying too hard," Harry soothed, "take a few deep breaths and calm down."

Draco gave him a withering look, but he defeated it with a winning smile he knew his lover couldn't resist. The blond man huffed a couple of lung fulls, but then smirked.

"I'm being childish, aren't I?" he observed.

"A little," Harry agreed with a shrug of his shoulders, "I was considering sending you to your room if you didn't start behaving."

Draco chuckled: Harry's smile widened, he liked the soft expression of mirth that lit up his partner's face.

"Maybe a lollipop would improve Master Draco's demeanour?" the Auror teased lightly, as the humour relaxed his spine a little.

"I'll give you lollipops!" the still chuckling man warned, waving his hand dismissively.

Harry complained as something hard hit him on the head and bounced down into his lap. Startled, he glanced down and found a neatly wrapped, orange lollipop sitting on his legs. The object was so innocuous that the young man found it hard to be concerned, and with a laugh, he went to pick it up. That's when another something hard glanced off his scalp. And again: Harry grimaced as a third object contacted with his crown. The wizard looked up at Draco, who just seemed confused; however, Harry took stock from his last encounter with his companion's magic, and rapidly wrapped his arms around his head. His prudence was proved right as the confectionary was joined by a rain of multicoloured cousins. The boiled candy cascaded down onto Harry, glancing blows off his arms and legs; he'd never realised sweets could be so painful, and he yelled, "Draco, stop it!"

The lollipops disappeared as quickly as they had arrived, dispersing in a puff of magic smoke, and slowly Harry uncurled. He knew his look was dark as he stared at Draco, but he couldn't help the annoyance. However, then he saw the shock in his companion's eyes, and a worried little frown that creased his forehead. The man looked more like a child than Harry had ever known him, and the image, coupled with a sudden realisation of the absurdity of the experience, found the wizard's sense of humour. The laugh escaped his lips unbidden, but it brought with it a sense of relief.

Draco pouted at him, caught somewhere between concern over what he'd done, and offence at being laughed at. Harry settled into a smirk, reminding himself that he was supposed to be the calming force.

"Well, that was a fairly specific spell, so I think we can say that you've found your focus, but I'm guessing that you didn't intend to do that, so your control is a little off." the young man commented lightly, "I suggest we now try to get your focus and control happening at the same time."

Draco just looked doubtful.

"Alright," Harry took the initiative, "let's look at this logically. What is making the meditation so hard?"

"The lake is so deep, and there's so much in it," Draco responded without a pause.

"And yet you managed materialisation without even thinking," his partner cajoled. "So you must have the ability to access it. What would have allowed Voldemort to access and control all the magic easily?"

Draco looked uncomfortable, but he didn't hold back as he replied, "That part of himself was around everything, all through me."

"But you got rid of that and you're still in one piece, so there's something in you that does the same thing," Harry followed his thoughts, "and you used it just now. The lake is just a mental exercise to help you do that consciously, rather than by mistake. What you're seeing in the lake is everything that has happened to you, all the investitures. But magic isn't like that."

"It shouldn't be in parts, it should be just one whole," Draco agreed, catching on to his companion's reasoning.

"It is one whole," Harry pointed out, "you're just thinking of it in parts."

"So how do I amalgamate all the parts?" his companion wondered, and Harry got the feeling the question was mainly aimed inwards as his blue gaze became unfocused.

Yet, he had a suggestion, and he disturbed the contemplation before it could begin with, "Get to know them?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, but Harry was not going to take the disdain again, and he pressed on, "We have to train your instincts to trust and know you magic. You haven't had a chance to get to know it, because of those runes. It's in pieces because of your experience of getting it, but maybe if you explore some of the pieces consciously, and deliberately make them part of the whole, it will get your brain doing it unconsciously. Once you're thinking of the magic as just part of you, control might get easier."

"Mind over magic."

Draco didn't seem completely convinced, but he wasn't objecting, so Harry took some hope. He was letting inspiration guide him, and the warm connection he had with the magic in the atmosphere made him bold.

"Materialisation seems to be no problem, since you just did it without thinking, so maybe we can use that. Let's try bringing some of those aspects out into the real world, to get to know them enough for you to assimilate them properly."

"That could be dangerous, you don't know some of the things Voldemort persuaded to help his cause."

"Then you can just dematerialise them again," Harry was not going to be beaten. "Look, Draco, all this is in your head anyway, you control it all. We are just trying to convince your head of that fact."

Draco smiled at that suggestion, and with a shake of his head, replied, "Alright, Potter, this is mad, but it seems to be the only idea we have. Would you care to lead the way?"

Harry grinned, buoyant that he'd been able to reason his way round a Slytherin.


	25. Know Thyself, Draco

Harry walked once around his charge, carefully examining the calm, closed-eye visage and relaxed cross-legged position for any sign of a break. They were here again, at the lake, and he gripped his wand a little tighter in knowledge of the dramatic possibilities of Draco's magic. The young wizard had been forming his ideas of how to accomplish his suggestion more or less as he went along, and his instincts were on high alert as he considered what to do next. Draco looked almost serene, totally in his lover's control as the words led them both on to wherever Harry wanted. Yet, Harry could feel the tension inside the blond man, created by the unfocused power, and it made his own shoulders knit uncomfortably, making him wary of stepping further into the mental exercise. Still, he was the leader, he had to take the risk for them both, and so, with a deep, steadying breath, Harry spoke as calmly as he could manage, "The waters are calm and clear, Draco, look into them."

At another time, Harry may not have heard the falter in his lover's breathing, but in the quiet of their own universe, and so close to the unknown, he heard it as if it were a deafening roar. Draco shivered, his body tensing for a moment as he faced the awesome lake, and a frown ran across his features. Harry stopped his progress around his partner, settling for a position a little way off to his side where he could watch the telling expression, but remain apart in case of trouble. His palm was damp against the comfortable wood of his wand, and he rubbed the shaft nervously. Yet he kept the anxiety from his command as he spoke, "What do you see, Draco?"

"Deep, it won't stop moving," came the distracted response, and Draco was frowning more definitely, but there seemed to be less fear in the admission than the first time they had made this meditation, at which Harry took heart.

"Put your hand into the water, Draco."

The instant reaction was refusal; Harry saw it in the shake of Draco's head, even as he said nothing. The young man felt for his companion's fear, but he answered it with a strong support rather than sympathy. This had to be faced, and purposefully, he told his friend, "There is nothing to fear, Draco, the waters are warm, touch them."

Draco tensed, as with the urging, his vision obeyed, but Harry was glad when he heard the fear drop away, replaced with surprise. Draco's lips parted in an awed breath, but their edges curled as the young man's psyche played out the controlled contact. Harry stood and watched for a moment, allowing his lover to experience his magic, and sensing some of the eddies that Draco's mental fingers were creating in the mass of power for himself. The wonder in the sharp features gave the endeavour a boost in Harry's resolve, and he indulged in a smile. Yet, the wizard's spine began to ache and he recognised that, despite the positive signs, he was still wound like a spring as his instincts told him how much potential lay under Draco's touch. With a silent little sigh, the guide stepped out of the pause and asked carefully, "What do you feel, Draco?"

Draco lifted his head, eyes still closed, but as though suddenly remembering his company, and Harry bit his lip as a stray bang fell gorgeously over the quizzical expression which interrupted the wonder. Yet, the blond man was still smiling vaguely, and he answered dreamily, "They're coming to my fingers."

"Good, now rest your palm upwards in the water and let them move over it."

The wonder returned, and Harry quickly gained the impression that he had been forgotten again as the contact expanded in Draco's thoughts. Once more, the guide allowed a while for the imagery to do its job, just watching carefully for any unexpected consequences of the meditation. Draco seemed relaxed, comfortable; Harry shifted edgily, remembering the first contact all too clearly. It was crunch time, and Harry prepared himself for anything as he chose his words carefully, "Draco, lift your hand slowly out of the water and bring one of them with you."

Draco shifted in his position, just a little, as his body tried to follow his mind's movements for a moment, but Harry was more interested in the way Draco's mental journey made his own intuition tighten. He could feel his instruction being carried out, as the magic moved inside his lover, and he hung on to the queasy lump it created in his stomach as his trepidation mixed with the echo of the movement in himself.

"Do you have one?"

A quick nod.

"Then open your eyes and show me what you have."

Harry held his breath as grey-blue eyes opened obediently. The gaze was focused a few feet ahead of its owner, and Harry found his own eyes drifting to the same position. For a moment, they were looking at empty air, but then, Harry adjusted his glasses as he thought he saw the air shimmer. His supposition proved correct and the distortion grew in tandem with the knot in his belly. The young man lifted his wand, ready for anything, since he could not decipher the messages his instincts were sending him about the magic being displayed. The air began to move over itself, in a worrying mirror of the blackness which Draco had already dispersed. The folds darkened away from the rest of the space in the white room, and Harry's disquiet began to magnify: not again, not more darkness. The wizard glanced at his partner, anxious about how he was going to react. Yet, Draco was showing little emotion, only an intense concentration on his target space. Harry felt helpless again, as he had to just watch the forming shape.

The shadow convulsed, and Harry's stomach lurched, but he wasn't sure if it was his nerves, or the magic which created the sickness. This was more confusing than last time, this wasn't like the expulsion, this was Draco's magic, power that Harry had asked to be shown, and he resisted the urge to destroy whatever was forming before it was complete. Caution warred with anticipation, and the young man only remembered to breathe as something finally formed out of the writhing space. The stale air came out of his lungs in a rush of surprise, as all trepidation drained out of Harry Potter. He lowered his wand, feeling somewhat foolish, but relieved as he recognised the short, leathery figure who now stood before them.

"Leafram," he murmured, and was given a friendly bow before the creature focused solely on his creator, smiling vaguely. "Why Leafram?"

"All the house elves at Hogwarts were compelled to donate to The Cause," Draco returned, his attention mainly on his creation, and he sounded guilty as he explained, "Leafram was one of the few who felt sorry for me. He and his family tried to be nice to me. I wasn't very nice back, but he never gave up."

The illusion's ears tipped down at the regret in his master's voice, and he took a little step forward, reaching out his hands in consolation. His smile seemed sad, and he tipped his head to one side, blinking expectantly. Harry was amazed at the amount of self-awareness the magical aspect was showing as he waited for a reaction to his gesture. This was no ordinary illusion, of that Harry was sure, this was a manifestation on a whole new complexity level than any he had seen before. Draco's will had created something which, the watcher surmised, was at least partially independent of its maker. Inanimate objects were fairly easy to conjure for any half-trained wizard, but he had to admit to being impressed by the aspect his lover had produced.

Harry found himself caught up in the moment as Draco worked through his remorse. The blond man sat silent for a few seconds, just regarding the embodiment of his emotion. Then, tentatively, he lifted out a hand in response to the offered greeting. Without hesitation, and apparently overjoyed at the acceptance, the little creature bounced forward and wrapped both his sets of spindly fingers around the human palm. Draco smiled back at the huge grin he was given, his eyes wide at the unexpected strength of his creation's expression. This was not Leafram, but it was Draco's remembrance of the generous elf's intent, and Harry wondered at the much-abused race's capacity for compassion. He had experienced that nature in Dobby, and now too, it would appear, in Leafram.

Draco's hand closed around one of the smaller pair, and Harry felt the magic pull. Nothing was being spoken between maker and made, but still the watcher had a feeling some kind of communication was taking place. Draco's stare intensified on his creation, and the façade of Leafram tipped his head as though listening. Then Harry was sure something had passed between his two subjects, because suddenly, the little elf nodded vigorously. Draco looked pleased at the enthusiastic agreement to whatever silent request he had made, and then he closed his eyes.

The attention to each other had been so great between his subjects that Harry was surprised when one of them included him in the moment. Again he was struck by how independent Draco's manifestation was, as Leafram turned his head away from his master for a moment and waved. It took Harry a while to realise the little creature was saying goodbye, and then he found himself waving back, albeit somewhat hesitantly. The House Elf was more than satisfied with his muted response, however, and grinned widely as his body began to dissolve. Harry just watched, as what had so recently been solid, faded gradually into nothing.

Draco remained poised, his hand held out around where his creation's clasp had been for some seconds after Leafram had ceased to be. His eyes were still closed, his face set in a comfortable smile. Harry just waited. His patience was rewarded, as with a sharp intake of breath, Draco's gaze snapped open, and he blinked at his companion.

"What did you ask Leafram?" Harry followed his thoughts as it became clear his lover had come out of the meditation.

"If he wanted to become part of me properly," Draco shrugged, but then made a face; it wasn't too serious, but his frown made Harry pause any further questions he had, as he felt there was more to come. "And now I have this absurd notion to be helpful."

Harry couldn't stop himself, he laughed. That notion was indeed absurd. Draco Malfoy was many things, but helpful in the House Elf sense was not something that sprang immediately to mind, and it conjured a ludicrous image of Draco in an apron and holding a duster. Draco wrinkled his nose at the ridicule, and warned, "It's not funny, I mean it, it's a compulsion, I need to do something helpful."

"Please don't go all domestic on me," Harry sniggered, the image only intensifying with Draco's protestation. "I don't think I could cope with that."

The blond man pushed himself straight up to standing from his cross-legged position and glared at his partner. Harry held his breath for a moment to try and stem the laughter, but as a brief look of consternation flicked across Draco's features the whole idea struck him as funny again, and he burst into another gale of giggles. Draco's hands went to his hips, clearly unimpressed with Harry's attitude. He watched haughtily, as slowly the chortle died out.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologised lightly, gasping in a breath, "but you have a unique way of breaking the tension."

"Well, I'm so glad I could be of service," Draco snarked back, and then his hands flew raggedly through his hair and he despaired, "Oh God, I am actually feeling happy about it."

Harry snorted, but quickly slammed a palm over his mouth as his companion gave him a very conflicted glare.

"I need to work this through, Potter," came the urgent admission, "or I am going to go stark staring mad very quickly: over a hundred House Elves' instincts will do that to you. How can I help? Are you still tense, I can relax you."

Harry stopped laughing as he recognised the slightly desperate edge to his lover's manner. The young man had the feeling Draco was exaggerating his position, but it was the way in which he fixed him with his stare which faintly worried the Auror. It was the same look he had seen in Dobby's eyes, the one which said that he was determined to help, no matter what anyone else's opinion on the matter was.

"Draco," Harry began carefully as he tried to ascertain what ideas had begun to run behind the look, "just try and calm down, I'm sure it will pass in a minute."

"No," Draco snapped back, getting annoyed with himself, "I have to do something, it's like an itch and I have to scratch it. You need to relax, I can see it in your face. How about a nice back massage."

Harry instantly coloured as memories of the last time he'd had a back massage from his lover came to mind. Draco must have seen the change in his companion, because it was his turn to laugh, and he observed, "Well, I hadn't thought about that, but now I do think about it, you definitely need helping to relax, and I know just how to do it."

Harry didn't reply, as his mind went places that weren't all too objectionable. Draco wandered leisurely over to him, and Harry let the blond man slip his index fingers into his waistband. He glanced down at the stroking touch and then up into the heavy gaze, and let a smile ease its way onto his lips.

"So what did you have in mind?" he asked, taking a step forward as he was hooked closer to his lover.

"Put your arms around my neck," Draco requested, his eyes glinting seductively.

Harry stowed his wand, and then obeyed, resting his elbows on his companion's shoulders, and hovering as close as he could come without touching his body to Draco's. He could just about make out a smile on the sharp features opposite, but they were mainly out of focus; the young man couldn't resist the temptation that ran through him, and he planted a light kiss on the waiting lips. Draco did not object, in fact he responded for a moment, and sent a shudder of delight down through Harry. Yet, he broke away gently, and whispered, "God, you are tense. Put your head on my shoulder."

Harry went with the pull which brought him right up against his lover's body, and found it wonderfully comfortable as he leant against the lean frame, placing his cheek on to the offered shoulder. Hands slipped under his robes and round his back, tugging lightly at his shirt until it came away from his trousers. He shivered again as a hot throb from his groin sent eddies of pleasure out through his body. Draco chuckled, his breath running over the back of Harry's scalp and down his neck, which only intensified the sensations.

"I don't know how relaxing this is going to be, but it feels great," Harry murmured distractedly.

"Shh," Draco responded, and his hands ran flat over the skin at the base of Harry's spine.

The touch was accompanied by a warmth which told Harry magic was being used, and in seconds he felt the rubbing begin to push away the knot of stress. The feeling was so overwhelming that the young man groaned, and leant further into his partner as his legs went weak. Then thumbs were circling in the small of his back, their pressure quite hard, almost painful, but their force assaulting the tension held there. Harry couldn't help but vocalise the release in every cycle, and he was almost hanging from Draco as the effect ran up through his shoulder blades. He trembled, unable to control his muscles as his lover drew out the tightness from their fibres.

Harry closed his eyes and let Draco's magic move further into him, trusting implicitly as it spread the ease on both a mental and physical level. Slowly, the sensations in his body began to draw him out of the world, enticing him into the calm space that they created. His breathing slowed and grew smoother, the rhythm soothing his tired body until it didn't matter any more. Harry sunk into the other place without reservation, content in the company of the influence that was all Draco. His instincts settled close to the power, wrapped in its comfort and just wallowed there in indulgent bliss. Everything became still, at peace.

* * *

Movement in the stillness began slowly, a gentle suggestion at first, gradually introducing the return of thought. Harry let it happen, as he had with the descent of the calm, following the call back to reality like fairytale breadcrumbs. Tingling reacquainted the young man with his body, and he stretched instinctively. Only then did he feel the form next to him, as it too shifted in response, and he pushed close to his lover, tightening the slack hold that had somehow been maintained. Arms moulded around his ribs as well, and Harry snuggled against Draco's ear, whispering, "Thank you."

The knots and aching were gone from his muscles. No more tightness held his shoulders. Harry had the oddest feeling that he was rooted to the floor, like his feet had been planted in the same place for a long time, and he had no inclination to move them as he straightened his legs and leant at least his upper body away from his partner. Draco was smiling again as he came into focus, but his gaze was not completely focused, as if he too had just come out from under a stupor. Harry's instinct told him that time had passed, and he asked idly, "How long?"

Draco shrugged, apparently unconcerned by his inability to provide the answer, and he concluded, "I went with the flow. You were so peaceful that I lost track."

"You certainly have a unique way of being helpful," Harry grinned wickedly as the libido he had left behind as the magic had taken effect caught up with him and he remembered just how wonderfully intimately he was wound by his lover.

Draco's response was to stroke his fingers against where they were still placed at the base of Harry's spine. He shivered and rubbed against his companion's abdomen. The tremble continued on through the other body and Draco drew in a deep breath. Harry was more than satisfied with the pleasure the movement gave them both. Yet he was surprised to find that he didn't want more; instead, the task at hand came back to mind, and he asked more seriously, "How are you feeling now?"

Draco looked a little startled at the sudden change of track, his gaze having been still lost in the sensations. Harry stroked the soft blond hair out of his companion's face and smiled patiently, in no hurry for a response if his lover was not ready to give it. Yet, those ice-blue eyes cast inwards for a few moments, and when they focused back on Harry they had the answer.

"I think my urges are back under control," Draco nodded soundly, humour in his tone.

"Well, anytime you feel the need to be helpful, I'll be here," Harry quipped, but he was only half joking.

His companion seemed to understand, his glance grateful and amused at the same time. Then the look solidified again, and both men saw the moment dwindling. As one, they drew in a final, comfortable breath, and slowly unwound from each other.

"I'd say that worked, more or less," Harry observed, stepping back and covering any left-over wont to stay close.

"But I'm going to have to be careful what I materialise if I'm going to get instincts off all of them," Draco stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged.

"That's what I'm here for," Harry returned confidently, and then caught up with what he'd said, he grinned and added, "If you get out of hand, I can always _try_ and hit you with a stunner."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but did not reply. Instead, a companionable silence fell. Despite the need to get on with things, Harry was still basking in the left-over haze of the relaxation, and he couldn't uncover any urgency with which to push things along. Draco seemed equally slow-witted, and his attention wandered around their bland universe, apparently accompanied by his thoughts.

Harry just watched him for a while, content with the calm set to his partner's features and the easy slouch which gratifyingly did not hold a mask for anything this time. Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly an open book, and Harry got the feeling he never would be as he watched thoughts flick past the imprecise stare, but he also felt comfortable with the amount of signals he was able to interpret. They'd come a long way even from what Harry considered their first civilised conversations. The young man wondered if anyone else would ever understand how so much could have changed in such a short time. It was an idle thought as he concluded that he didn't really care one way or the other.

Like any good Slytherin, Draco was planning, running through scenarios, working out the odds: Harry could see it in his eyes. The lengths to which Draco had pre-empted things at Hogwarts had taken him by surprise, and he had made a mental note then not to underestimate that side of his lover again. Still, how anyone could plan for the current events was beyond the Gryffindor. House elves and lollipops did not make any pattern he could fathom. However, Draco seemed to be trying to make some sense out of it, and so Harry gave the more devious intellect time to work in silence. The result of the cogitations was not as precise as Harry was expecting, in fact, there was doubt in the Draco's blue eyes as he finally looked back at his friend and announced, "I want to try the materialisation meditation on my own, work out what it is that I'm actually doing. I need a beater in case I create my own bludgers?"

Harry felt for the disquiet he saw in the sharp features as he realised that for all Draco's calculating, he had obviously failed to make any headway. So they were just going to barrel on.

[How very Gryffindor,] Harry thought to himself, surprising himself with his own sense of irony, but out loud all he said was, "Whatever you need."


	26. Surrender

Harry had ceased to be surprised by anything he was seeing. He'd met a goblin who was very unhappy about being materialised and caused Draco to storm around in a temper for five minutes. A grindylow which had had to be dematerialised quickly before it suffocated, and a flight of Doxies who had felt the sharp end of Harry's wand. However, these and other disruptions and failures had been the least interesting of the materialisations so far. Draco's mind, it had become apparent, was not as disciplined as he would have liked it to be, and the more successful assimilations had turned to a common theme, they kept coming back to one focus, sex.

Harry, although not missing the chance to tease his companion about the kind of motivation which was helping him to succeed, had not objected to this turn of events. He'd been the receiver of some very potent, but enjoyable images when Draco had reacquainted himself with the magic from a dream-weaver, a sprite whose sole aim in life was to watch and add their own ideas to people's day or night dreams. Draco had also proven that he could be inventive with the Fire Staff of Te'ehmath. The unorthodox use of the item's magic had tickled and titillated Harry in some interesting places before the blond wizard had finally assimilated the manifestation. Heavy petting had taken on a whole new dimension when Draco had influenced the shape-changing ability of the boggart he had created so that for a few minutes there had been two Malfoys. Harry had had to lower the lights for the second Draco to come out of the corner, but after that things had progressed enthusiastically until the two Dracos had been ready to become one again. Harry had been a little disappointed when two pairs of hands on his torso had become one again, but then he had discovered the delights of having a shape-changer as a boyfriend.

That last encounter was still running through Harry's mind as he crouched a few feet away from his partner. He was trying to stay alert, watching for any doxy-like bludgers as he had promised, but as Draco's proficiency grew, his guide was becoming less strict with himself and with it, his thoughts were wandering. He'd been watching the calm figure for a few minutes now, and he swizzled his wand idly between his fingers as his view of the handsomely composed figure kept taking him out of the moment back to the point where he'd been doing more than just looking.

Still, Harry surprised himself as to how awake he was as their next guest arrived. His fingers closed firmly around his wand as his peripheral vision noticed movement at the wall on the right, and he swivelled on his heels to quickly assess any danger. The young man didn't exactly relax when he laid eyes on the newcomer, but it wasn't alarm bells which went off in his brain. A young lady solidified out of the shimmering mist that always announced one of Draco's creations, and Harry's mouth fell open. She was tall, and curvaceous, and her black eyes spoke of exotic promise as they surveyed the room. Yet what made Harry's libido kick in full-throttle was the fact that, except for her deep auburn hair, which fell over her shoulders like the finest silk, the sensuous figure was completely naked.

"You can put your tongue back into your mouth, Harry," Draco alerted his companion to the fact that he was back in the real world, and at the same time took revenge for the digs Harry had been making about his choice of manifestations.

Harry snapped his jaw shut, and dragged his gaze away from their visitor to his lover. He answered the gotcha grin on Draco's face with, "So I was right, you do have a one track mind."

"Only when you're around," the quip came back, and Harry was given a flash of ice blue passion before Malfoy turned to greet his guest; smoothly, the blond man stood and welcomed, "Hello, Godi."

"Not a stranger then," Harry observed dryly, also standing up as his manners kicked in; this may have been a naked figment of Draco's imagination, but she was still a visitor.

The blond wizard and his creation's smiles deepened at the same time, and Harry found himself under a scrutiny that made his heart beat quicken. He knew the look of lust in Draco's eye, which was also mirrored in their guest's, and it spoke to the memories that had already been running around in his head.

"Godi is a succubus," Draco explained, his tone as heavy as his gaze.

The creator was clearly unconcerned by the revelation that his latest creation was a sex demon, he was more interested in fixing Harry with the hotness of his attention. The Auror kept a firm hold of his wand, maintaining a small amount of caution, considering Draco's information, but it was very difficult to do so when the hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle in a titillatingly distracting way. Draco was more than pleased with the colour Harry could feel rising in his cheeks, and he grinned wickedly as he reassured, "Lucius introduced us. She agreed not to kill me; the sex was great and she donated a little of her magic to Voldemort's cause."

Harry ground his teeth as his partner's attention turned away, back to the beautiful manifestation, unsure if he was feeling disappointment or relief that the intense gaze was gone. Godi, too, focused on her maker, and the left-out feeling crept over the watcher more definitely than it ever had before; it _was_ disappointment he was feeling, Harry concluded.

The succubus was truly a sight to behold, elegant and strangely invulnerable despite her lack of normal human modesty. She held all the qualities the pupils had been warned about in their Defence Against the Dark Arts classes in the seventh year. Yet, this creature was not real, she was a creation of Draco's magic-saturated mind, and Harry did not feel like invoking the banishment that his training brought to mind. Instead, he let his eyes run over her slender curves, much as his lover was doing, and just sunk into admiration of her perfect female form.

Godi seemed to appreciate the captivation, and her sure smile spoke of the confidence she had in her seductive capabilities. Yet she did not move. Draco answered the stillness in her as he held out his hand. The woman pouted at the wordless come hither, her full lips oozing tease and Harry shifted position as her charms worked on him, even as he couldn't judge what kind of effect they were having on Draco. The creator echoed the confidence in his latest creation, and slowly, every move displaying sex, Godi began to walk towards the waiting hand.

Harry bit his lip. He'd never considered the role of the voyeur, but as he was left out of the action, he felt his erection hardening none-the-less. Harry's body pulsed as the woman reached back to Draco, and the intense young man swept her into an embrace. Woman moulded to man, and Harry hung on to his own murmur as Draco vocalised the pleasurable sensations she inspired in them both. He knew what this felt like, he had been in his lover's embrace and as his memory rewarded him with a throbbing groin, Harry knew where he wanted to be again. He hung on to that thought as he watched the path of his partner's hands on the smooth, supple body of the interloper.

His lover's long fingers traced light patterns over the succubus' white skin, just as they had done on Harry's, and the memory came back with an unnatural clarity, which sent a shiver through his body. Lips met both in body and mind, and as Godi whispered her pleasure through the kiss, Harry sank his teeth further into his lip to stifle any sound his thoughts inspired. His magical instincts told the wizard that he was being influenced, but the intensity in his head made that idea virtually irrelevant. He dropped his hands to his sides, his grip going weak as another tremble ran up his spine in response to the remembered stimulation. Something slipped from his fingers, but Harry didn't care what it was, he was more intent on the way this new power was reminding him of his lover's touch.

Through half-closed eyes, Harry watched Draco caress his creation, and almost instantly found a memory to match for himself. He was lying on the bed in the guest room at Hogwarts, entwined closely with his partner and one finger was oh so slowly tracking up the back of his thigh causing him to flex his leg just the way Draco wanted him to. This time Harry could not stop the sound which accompanied his out-rush of breath, and he had to lock his knees to stop the thought-sensations from toppling him. Harry's sound merely served to fire Draco, whom it appeared was not above a little exhibitionism. The blond man snaked his palm down over Godi's back and took firm hold of a smooth buttock. The watcher recognised the move, but it didn't prepare him for the throb which ran through him as Draco very deliberately pulled his subject's abdomen close against his body. Several memories fell over themselves in Harry's brain as the woman lifted her leg and wrapped it around her maker and he tasted blood as he bit right through his lip.

The Auror looked away as the minor pain told him that matters were running out of control. Yet it did no good; the sex magic that Draco had released did not require Harry to watch, he was ensnared and the power ran through him finding all the right buttons. The young man knew he was being played with, found it mildly irksome, but images and awareness persisted, overwhelming any quarrel he had with the way he was being teased.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Harry asked breathlessly, the wont in him dragging his gaze back to the lustful embrace.

He was given no verbal response, but his question brought events to a head. Draco was wrapped around the succubus' smaller frame, almost engulfing her as she moulded to his will, and, as Harry watched, his hold became something more. The viewer sunk into a sexual haze, remaining standing only out of habit as all his senses focused on the messages his lover was emitting. It didn't matter what memories accompanied Draco's influence now, everything just massed into a heat which hypnotised its victim.

Harry followed every stroke of flesh, every murmur of delight, unable to separate from past or present, spellbound by his own ardour. Even as, with all the manifestations before her, Godi's form began to fade, the sensations remained. The woman whispered her pleasure, her passion unabated by the dispersal of her flesh. Draco's hold closed in around himself, his arms crossing his chest, and he arched his head back, as enrapt by the avalanche of urges he had created as his lover. Thus the companions remained in stillness, only the tight breathing in their chests evidence of what was happening in mind. Harry stared, fascinated by his statuesque partner.

Harry was not aware he was waiting for anything until suddenly a gaze snapped over to him, and the change allowed his thoughts to acknowledge the time which had passed. Lust, pure and simple, glowed in Draco's eyes, and the smile which crept over his lips spoke of a hunger which inspired, but also for the first time, concerned Harry. He took a step back, his mind flipping to the selfish scrutiny of the first time he had seen that look in his enemy's eyes. That thought conflicted with the erotic wont which his lover had been building in him, and the young man had no response when his lover advanced.

Draco didn't seem to care if he had a willing victim or not: the possessed man reached for Harry's shirt and ripped it off his chest. The violence caused Harry to retreat in apprehensive confusion, as urgent hands pushed his clothing off his shoulders. He came to an abrupt halt as his back hit the wall, and his own clothing trapped his arms by his sides where it was half removed. Draco's nails ran viciously up over his stomach and Harry couldn't help himself, he groaned as the sensations joined with his already heated body and made his world spin. His lover pressed close, a laugh of desire in the air, and Harry trembled as Draco's face hovered agonisingly close to his ear, breath playing over his lobe.

"Like that Potter?" Draco's low grumble half asked, half stated.

Harry didn't have any word to answer, he just waited, his lungs tight with anticipation, wanting his partner to make the next move and decide for him. His companion's hands rested on Harry's shoulders, fingers stroking insistently; he reacted to a second tremble in Harry which this motion caused, and Harry capitulated as a mouth covered his. He parted his lips, a little way at first, but quickly wider as Draco demanded a deeper caress. Harry's pulse increased, sounding in his ears. There was no half way in this encounter, Draco was not the tender lover who had led a novice partner into his first union, he was a commander, challenging, difficult, and Harry wanted him. His half-confined stance just excited the young wizard, his magic and his emotions were running wild, he was out of control, and he liked it. He stopped fighting the restrictive clothing and used what he could to tell Draco he needed him.

Harry was satisfied to hear his companion moan as he pushed his groin into his captor's and stroked his arousal. However, the sound became an adversarial growl, and his tail bone was quickly slammed back against the wall, as Draco took offence at the initiation. Still, it was Harry's turn to groan as his lover reciprocated the movement he had begun. His cock throbbed, hard and now almost painfully restricted by his clothes; he returned the rumble, his frustration telling in his voice. Draco seemed to find this amusing: his light laugh again filled Harry's ears, as he pressed and teased some more, his tongue and teeth finding the sensitive areas of Harry's neck. The trapped man wanted to fight then, to be able to reach back, and he pushed Draco away more aggressively.

Draco's answer was a swift bite to his shoulder, and as Harry let out a gasp in response, he broke the embrace and stepped backwards. Harry was instantly angry with the grin of triumph that greeted him as he focused on his partner. Draco's grey eyes were bright with mischief, he was still playing games, but Harry's annoyance subsided quickly into the overwhelming intoxication of the moment, because he recognised the spark of passion behind his lover's abandon. The touch of the succubus was affecting them both very deeply, Harry knew it, he could feel the impulses growing with every heart beat, and he didn't care. This magical aspect was going to be played out, in full, the reason for its instigation lost in the infatuation that had taken over, and Harry embraced the frenzy.

Slowly, Harry stood away from the wall and shrugged his robe and tattered shirt to the ground. He was tall and agile, and he enjoyed the cast of Draco's hungry gaze over his body.

"Like it, Malfoy?" he let his own mischief out, a smile twitching at his mouth as he threw the tease back at his lover.

"Are you ready to play?" his partner drooled, his answer implicit in the new question; Draco's tone was thick with desire and Harry could see the sex-demon looking back at him.

The magic was raw, untamed by human restraint as the ghost of Godi's instincts took control. A tiny knot of trepidation formed in Harry's chest as a counter to the recklessness he was feeling. Yet, in his current state, the emotion just added to his excitement. He moved closer to his tempter, his breath tight and his heart racing; his body pulsed again and again as Draco invited him in and he reached for his poised lover.

The seducer didn't move, even as Harry's palms brushed his shoulders and he leant in for a kiss. Draco's power came through as he accepted the first brush of lips, and Harry became very aware that his partner was in control. The enticer barely acknowledged the touch, his mouth slightly open, but offering no more. Still, Harry felt a rush of desire run through himself as he pressed close and the magic moved around him, exposing his senses further to the lust that was consuming Draco's existence. This was his choice, Harry knew he could reject the power around him, but it made him feel alive: he let it in with a moan of wont, and then suddenly his partner responded.

The invitation taken, the demon-possessed wizard's response wasn't with the embrace that Harry was expecting. In fact, Draco's advance came more like an attack. Draco revealed a lack of patience as he employed a rougher version of the same technique which had taken Harry from vertical to horizontal during their first encounter: he grabbed his partner's shoulders, slipped a leg behind Harry's knees and very effectively tipped him off his feet. He gave no assistance as Harry crashed to the floor, just watched, the dominator in his stance. Harry coughed as his back contacted hard with the thankfully padded floor, and stunned, he did not resist as Draco straddled his hips and leant down close.

Unexpected the change in circumstance may have been, but unwelcome it was not, as any disgruntled thoughts over the discomfort were quickly aborted as Harry finally got the kiss he'd been wanting. Draco's lips pressed hard against his own, teeth and tongue demanding, and this time something more passed between the partners as the dominant force took full advantage of Harry's desires. A directed, heady rush of power coursed into Harry and his senses struggled to cope. He gasped through the caress and went gloriously weak as his mind exploded with input. His body throbbed, excited and addicted to the touch from inception, and wanting more. Yet, Draco broke the kiss and knelt up, his cat-got-the-cream grin telling Harry that he was more than satisfied with the trembling, lust-soaked companion the brief attention had created. Victim just stared up at seducer, dizzy, uncoordinated, his skin damp from the initial embrace, but greedy for another.

"Now we play," his lover told Harry, fingers stroking lightly over Harry's chest.

Harry closed his eyes with a murmur of pleasure and he centred on the light rubbing. Nails dragged over his skin, causing more trembling, and he just let it happen, unable to direct any more than mere response as Draco's sex magic drenched his being. First the strokes ran over his taut stomach muscles, dragging out another moan, and then swiftly up, over his pecs and down his arms. Harry gripped at the fingers which entwined with his as spasms of delight followed their path, and he capitulated as his hands were brought up beside his head. His lover pushed down on his palms, moving in low again, and Harry lifted his head to meet the press of lips. More power drove through him, and the young man took it inside in tandem with Draco's tongue.

An enlivening disorientation cut Harry off from the world around him and locked him in to the close sensations. As he let go of reality the dizziness eased, or maybe it just didn't matter anymore. Harry took all that was offered through the embrace. Jets of excitement added to the cocktail of magic and attraction, and for a few moments, he lost himself completely in the kiss, so much so, that it took him a while to realise that he had lost more control of the situation than he had bargained. Draco's long fingers in his hair did not make an impact until they tipped his head back, and he moved down to nip at Harry's neck. Only then did the young man try to lift his arms to reach for his companion, and he discovered that he couldn't. Instantly, alarm cut right through his reverie and Harry struggled.

"Draco," he objected, his words slurring and the world spinning as fear tried to break him out of his haze.

Draco did not seem to hear, his only response the enticing run of his tongue along Harry's jaw line. The sex spell was still being cast, and little explosions of passion went off in its subject's brain, but Harry resisted them as his bondage caused all the wrong excitement. He flexed, lifting his torso off the ground and pushed up into his partner.

"Draco," he complained again, "let me go."

There was only a second lack of response to his concern, as teeth nipped at his ear. Harry shuddered as the pleasure ran through him and conflicted with the new aspect to the racing of his heart. He fought with the bonds, but it was like there was an invisible weight planted in each of his palms.

Draco kept kissing.

The panic was beginning to rise more definitely, and Harry gasped in air as a lover's wont and a prisoner's fear mixed inside him. He strained away from the lips at his neck, needing to find clarity as the combination of his conflicts made his disquiet worse. Only then did his lover intervene. Draco's voice came in a whisper, but with an intensity which demanded attention as he spoke into Harry's ear, "Surrender, Playmate, you won't regret it."

It wasn't the comfort, or the release that Harry mostly wanted, and his fear did not go away, but the words spoke to the part of him that had agreed to this game in the first place. The panic did not surface, and Harry closed his eyes in consternation as two sides of his instincts warred for supremacy. Draco's titillations began again, and despite his misgivings, Harry did not turn away as lips touched his. This wasn't safe, and Harry's vulnerability brought back echoes of a similar forced position he had suffered too many times under torture. Yet kisses brushed his lips, and he wanted the body above him with a desire so strong that it nearly drowned conscious thought.

Fingers stroked around the edge of his collar as they had done that long night in the guest room at Hogwarts, and Harry was reminded that Draco had already turned one object of degradation into a tool of pleasure with his own particular brand of foreplay. The streams of bliss sent shivers down his spine, eroding the fear which was keeping him largely unresponsive. Draco's teeth nipped at his lips, for a moment requesting, not demanding access, casting their spell and promising pleasure, and finally Harry's passion responded to that pledge. In a heartbeat, his fear reshaped into a thrill of abandonment, and he opened his mouth again, yielding to the touch of his lover.

The freedom of surrender seduced Harry as powerfully as the sex magic. He lay at the mercy of the wildness that possessed his lover, an idea which woke every fibre in his being to the experience, and he met Draco's kiss with the hunger of an addict. His reengagement dispersed any restraint his controller had left. Draco's aggressive enchantment powered into its subject once more and, with reckless enthusiasm, Harry's senses closed around the intimate world it created.


	27. The Power Of Lust

Harry knew he was in danger: he had read the texts and listened to his teacher, but theory was nothing compared to the overwhelming wont the succubus' power drove through his body. Words had warned the student of the seductive nature of this demon, but they had failed to warn him of the ease of surrender. This demon could kill, but at the same time, this demon was his lover, familiar but still tantalisingly new. Harry tipped his head back and panted away the desire that dampened his flesh; he was close to the edge. Draco's tongue ran down over his Adam's apple, warm and slippery, and the sensation was one too many for Harry. A rush of adrenaline followed undiluted lust through his body and Harry tensed with delight.

The orgasm's ferocity blew brain cells even before it reached its zenith and Harry's intimate world threatened to disappear. However, the pique hit a wall: Harry reared into a touch which pressed hard against his groin, a cry of passion strangling into a groan at the back of his throat as his pleasure crashed. He still went weak very quickly, as confusion in his senses strained his body, but he did not pass out. Instead, Harry's groan became a growl of disappointment and he glared up at the controller who had thwarted the high. At least, Harry tried to glare as he gasped away the mess of half-met desire, but he couldn't focus on Draco, who was now knelt over him, hand still firmly pushing his lower body against the floor.

"Now, now, Lover," Draco objected to the hostility in Harry in the same husky voice which had enticed him in the first place, "you know how I feel about rushing into things."

Harry continued to growl his frustration and used what energy he had not already expended to flex against his constraints. Draco met his anger by planting an arm either side of his body and leaning over him. The magic already inside Harry rose to meet its master and he gasped for breath as the rollercoaster that was his reactions began to rise again.

"Surrender," Draco repeated, his tone still warm, even as he demanded Harry's obedience.

There was no choice but to submit, Harry knew he could not fight the magic now it was inside him, and part of him didn't want to. The touch of the demon felt good, and Harry let the pleasure outweigh any misgivings that were sitting somewhere in his misty thoughts. His growl disappeared alongside his anger as desire swamped it; Draco promised much with the wave of pleasure that wiped away the thwarted orgasm, and he revealed how fast he was learning to control his power as Harry sensed his lover's will tempering the same magic that had threatened to throw him over the edge only moments ago.

"You like that?" Draco asked.

Harry closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and smiled.

The power continued to flow, skating through his senses and giving Harry no chance for anything other than reacting. His skin was damp from his exertions already, his pulse raced in his ears, but all he wanted was more. He didn't even realise that Draco was not touching, save for where he had him straddled, until light fingers on his pecs made him whimper with the carefully balanced titillation. The demon magic held him back from overload, but only just, and every fibre was awake to the slightest touch, as his own lust brought him further under his lover's control.

Harry flexed against the maddeningly soft stroking, asking for more with a wordless whine. He was given it in short measure: a conflicting mixture of pain and incredible pleasure sliced out through his body from his chest as Draco dragged his nails uncompromisingly over vulnerable flesh. Harry nearly screamed, but as he writhed and opened his mouth to let out the intoxicating cocktail of sensation, his sound was captured by another demanding kiss. He gave his all to the claim on his soul, excited, pressing up close to the body above him, trembling and unable to stop the small movements that he was making in response to the eddies of pinpricks that told him where the keratin had left damage.

Every offer of Harry's mouth, every rub of his skin against cloth was taken as sacrifice to the succubus' power, and Draco drew the magic's hold tighter around his being. It cradled Harry's senses as he collapsed away from the kiss, gasping for air and unable to sustain such pure ardour. He kept his eyes closed, lying contentedly in the honey-trap and groaned as his seducer showed no such fatigue; Draco shifted down his body and tongue on broken skin made Harry's sound catch in his throat. He became a blissful puppet, shifting and moaning to his master's wonts. Draco kissed and licked and bit his bared torso ruthlessly until it was almost unbearable, but shots of delight always succeeded in defeating any disquiet that the rough treatment tried to inspire in Harry's logical brain.

When Draco's fingers finally began to work on the button of his fly, Harry had almost forgotten he was fixed in place, and he tried to reach to assist. The restriction in his movement sent adrenaline scattering all through his system once more, but this time a growl of desire was his only complaint and he shifted his hips into the deft touch. Draco chuckled, his sound low and hot and he observed, "Patience, Playmate."

A quick burst of unstoppable lust was the punishment for his misdemeanour, and Harry flattened onto the floor as it popped a few brain cells. He panted it back to proportions where spots didn't float in front of his eyes, and then he looked down his body to watch the efforts of his lover. Draco was elegant in all he did, even when his cheeks were flushed with desire and his hair was falling around his face in wild tangles, and Harry admired what he saw. There was only one problem with the view before him: too many clothes. Harry knew the lithe body that lay beneath the dark clothing, he had spent long hours exploring it, and his mind flew back to the first time he had reached this same conclusion.

"Your clothes," he managed, stalling his anticipation of his own nudity in favour of that of his lover; that gained Draco's attention, he knelt up straighter and released the fly-button, surprise and a little indignation flashing in his ice-blue eyes.

"Let me see you," Harry chose to make a plea rather than a demand, and he showed his lover the heat that expectation of the answer was generating in him.

Draco smiled: Harry smiled, and ran his tongue hungrily over his lips as his request was met. Draco's shirt went the same way as Harry's had and buttons popped as its owner ripped it open. Harry ran his gaze slowly over the smooth, pale flesh that his lover revealed, remembering every curve and how he had familiarised himself with each one, and his groin throbbed. With the current heated state of his body, that meant the cascade outwards made him murmur, and with a little surprise he heard a similar sound escape his controller's lips. Draco's eyes closed, and he paused, chest displayed and shirt halfway to the ground, reminding Harry that this was not all sex demon he was watching, even if its magic was what allowed one to sense the other. Harry indulged his pleasure centres, drawing out the minor pique for as long as he could and enjoying the open-mouthed sigh from his lover.

Draco didn't open his eyes when he finally moved once more, the shirt dropped unseen off his back and then his hands were moving over his trousers. His thumbs dipped below the waistband and invisible hands went to the fly; Harry's murmur became a groan more magic from Draco forced a reaction from his already saturated body. It was not the power of the succubus, but that really didn't matter as his libido took on any stimulation it was given. The button and zip undid by themselves.

With one push, Draco slid the black denim off his hips and down around his thighs, taking any other clothing with it and Harry was given the vision he wanted: his Adonis bared to him. As with Godi, Draco's nudity showed no vulnerability; Draco was fierce, Draco was dominant, and, when he opened his eyes, the power in them left Harry in no doubt of the mastery within. As his anticipation took a harder shape, Harry's lust took tighter hold of him as well, spreading the external power that held him, giving it greater purchase on his soul. He whined his appreciation of his master, unable to produce anything more coherent. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest, his dick ached and still he wanted more.

"You want me inside you," Draco told him, running his palms either side of his erection and pushing forward in display, just enough to reinitiate the cascades of excitement in Harry as he thought about the proposal.

"Yes," Harry confirmed, forcing out the consent that tied him to the wonderful overload and he began to tremble again.

"How long shall I make you wait, Playmate?" came the tease, and Harry panted away an eddy of desire as fingers slipped into his waistband.

When magic took hold of the fastenings of his jeans, he lifted his tailbone off the ground, thrusting his hips in time with throbs from his groin. The sex power tightened its grip still further, pushing back at his arousal and Harry couldn't stop a whimper as cloth was slowly drawn over his re-hardening cock. It was sweet torment, watched over by a cruel benefactor, and Harry revelled in his controller's attention. Draco's stare was fixed on his pelvis, and the look spoke of infatuation. He was desired by his lover and the demon magic that resided within him, and he displayed to them both.

Draco left Harry's trousers in a similar position to his own, enough to reveal all of interest, and then left them forgotten. Nails dragged more vicious lines from Harry's thighs back up over his abdomen, and he capitulated with more sounds of pleasure as he was pushed down against the floor. Draco was leaning over him now, breathing hard, his eyes watching Harry's arousal. Harry wasn't fully erect again yet, not after the brutal interruption to his last orgasm, but under the thick attention of his lover, lustful magic did its job. Harry shifted as much as the palms on his groin allowed and groaned as the power played his desire like an instrument. He was dizzy again, but it didn't matter, he lay his head back, closed his eyes and took his partner's lead in focusing on the glorious sensations rolling out from his dick.

His body was on fire, and Harry strained to breathe. The rush running through him was normally saved for the moments before orgasm, but the magic sustained the overwhelming pleasure, stopping just short of destroying brain cells. He had no control over his own body; that idea should have concerned him, but Harry had no thoughts left for anything but his thirst for his lover. A hand took firm hold of his erection: the final spur; Harry cried out the pressure from within, thrust once into the tight embrace and then released. Fluid, desire, magic, all powered out of Harry. He spasmed wildly, lost in the incredible high, not caring if it ripped him apart and he gave it all to his master.

The demon magic surrounded Harry like a shell and ran through him like a whirlwind, containing and filling him, owning him. He was open on every level, but the net, even as he felt it tighten, welcomed him in, and he accepted the perfection it brought. The power drove him on, forcing him to the limits, and, still tumbling through ecstasy, Harry hit his own wall. Unlike Draco's unnatural intervention, the physical exertions did not halt the mighty orgasm, they merely admitted defeat to it. Harry heard his own sound die and then he swooned.

Once more, he did not pass out completely, the magic had too strong a hold of him to allow that, but Harry collapsed into the sexual cocoon as his senses refused to keep up with the rushing in his body. He went as limp as a rag doll in a heart beat, and lost himself to the rip tide of lust that continued its course through his fibres without him. Whether such a distraction had been intended or not, the world went on outside Harry's over-stimulated mind, and when he hit bottom with a small groan, his senses slowly returned to reality and told him that Draco had not been idle. Harry still lay in the splayed position, but his lover was no longer astride him. All their clothing was gone, and Harry's legs had been spread either side of Draco's kneeling form.

Harry blinked up at the face which came close to his, unable to focus, but well aware of the excited attention he was being given.

"Now you're all mine, Lover," Draco whispered, his tone hot with desire, and Harry felt the succubus' magic curl inside him, reminding him of its control and the seal on his fate.

Harry had no defences against this creature, and, in truth, he didn't want any. He felt complete giving all to his partner, and his response to the subtle stimulus was a contented sigh. His life and his soul were in the hands of his wild lover, and it felt good.

"What do you have to offer me, Playmate?" Draco challenged.

"Anything," Harry submitted in return, and flexed upwards again.

Yet, Draco knelt up and away quickly, avoiding the contact and confusing the willing victim. Harry frowned at him and was told bluntly, "You're spent."

To prove his point, Draco ran his finger slowly over Harry's flaccid penis: the sensitised organ pulsed with the touch and Harry's ardour tried to respond, but the magic had demanded too much already, and he went spiralling back into the heady weakness of infatuation. That same power caught him and prevented a faint, and the world swum back into the blurry focus he was used to. Once he was back in their world, Draco continued, "I don't want that."

Harry tensed and shivered as his dick was laid aside across his leg: he knew what Draco wanted, the same look was in his eyes as had been there that first night when he had stood in the firelight. This time there would be no check of consent, no consideration of the newness of the experience, and Harry's heart skipped beats as he read the rampant libido that was running unfettered behind his lover's eyes. Still, he relaxed into the light press of fingers which ran over his scrotum and between his legs, widening his position and lifting himself to give better access. The stroking came to rest just behind his balls, round and round and just occasionally over his anus and back again: Harry moaned at the tease and Draco chuckled.

"You're almost ready to play, aren't you, Playmate?" the demon added words to his game.

"Yes," Harry answered and shifted to try and make the fingers dance over his entrance again.

"You'll have me any way I want you, won't you?" Draco taunted, withdrawing his stroke out and down one spread thigh.

His leg flexed involuntarily and Harry whined.

"Won't you," his master prompted and nails skirted back up the path that fingers had just traced.

"Yes," he gave strangled reply and lifted his pelvis more definitely to meet the advance.

Digits pressed against his dry entrance, testing his subjection, and Harry would have accepted breach there and then, as ripples of excitement and gratification drowned any concern of the damage that such force could do. He pushed back against his controller's experiment, lust and magic making him desperate to demonstrate how right Draco was. Yet the breach did not come: Harry had to wait.

"A little preparation," Draco told him, and then magic moved.

The effect of the small spell was enough to turn the demon power in Harry, and the world tripped away once more. This time when it came back, his lower body had been lifted up, his legs resting over Draco's shoulders, and it was no longer fingers at his entrance. His sex-crazed brain was given no chance to sort itself out, or prepare: as soon as Harry blinked up at his lover, he felt the push. He was slick and oddly relaxed, but Draco was taking no prisoners with the direct ultimatum, and Harry cried out in shock. He threw his head back and his sound grew quickly longer as Draco buried himself deeply.

As Harry reared into the penetration, his soul reared into the waiting magic. Lover and demon held him tightly, their excitement running through him at all levels, and he had no choice but to follow where the experience led him. The demand hurt, both on a physical and magical level, but it was the kind of pain that made him heady and took him down to the depths of his desires. Harry Potter was not an innocent, he knew life, and the forces at the base of his psyche, which conjured the thrill of the fight and the will to defy his enemies, this time bubbled up to embrace the potent thrill of meeting his lover's challenge. He wanted this dangerous man, and now he had him, consequences be damned.

His master held still as Harry's body and soul struggled with his own lust. He was close to the limits of what his mind and his flesh could sustain; every fibre was awake to the forces on his body, and every thought was full of his lover. He was seeing stars, even behind closed eyelids, but it was nothing compared with the shockwave when Draco moved inside him. Harry ground his teeth, then panted and balled his hands into fists as the succubus magic leeched the wonderful sensation of being filled out of his body and grew stronger from his pleasure. Harry felt the draw, the pull on his strength that came with the spread of the magic, but it didn't matter as the honey-trap kept him distracted.

The slave gave his all to the pleasure of his master, writhing and crying out his passion on the command of magic and cock. He fed the fast-growing climax freely, his sense of abandon growing exponentially with each press of body on body. However it was not merely his own abandon that was increasing. With each draw on his energies, Harry could feel the power around him flowing faster, gripping tighter, running wilder, and in tandem, he heard Draco's breathing tighten and his attentions lose their coordination. When Draco leant over him, Harry opened his eyes and looked up; Draco looked back, his gaze as consuming as his magic, but there was something in the stare that did not fit. Draco was as delirious as Harry, as caught by the succubus magic, and his control was slipping.

Harry gasped as the forces inside him piqued for a moment, but then shuddered as they gave way again. He heard a groan and assumed it was his own for a moment, but when Draco's hair brushed his chest, Harry realised that the intoxicating gaze was gone, and his lover's head was almost resting on him. Draco stopped moving, and the pause after such frenzy felt almost like hitting another wall, only the currents that still had hold of him told Harry that this wall was going to break. Harry heard a hissing coming from Draco, but he couldn't see his face to judge the reason behind it, although his master was now shaking.

The magic swirled inside, too much for him, and Harry became the demander as he tightened around Draco. The reaction was what he wanted: Draco growled and pushed into his lead, but the magic's reaction was more than Harry was expecting, as another pique sent the world in and out very quickly. Draco was panting into his chest when Harry could think sensibly again, his blond crown hanging between his shoulders as if his neck would not hold its weight. Harry wanted to see his face, find out why the glorious ride was slowing down, and almost as if his mind was being read, slowly Draco lifted his head. The same, all-commanding stare greeted Harry, but something else joined it, disbelief, Harry thought. However, that consideration was all he was allowed, as the demon power glazed Draco's eyes and, his teeth bared like a rabid dog, Draco thrust one last time.

Harry screamed and reared as man and demon came into him. Magic coursed through his soul and it tried to grip onto him with the clamps of lust, but blood was also pumping wildly through his veins, and the exertion was too much for mortal flesh. The rush wiped the demon's control, snapping the surreal world that had cocooned him, and Harry hit ground. His thoughts were his own, for a split second, and as the young man felt a body collapse on top of him, he had enough time to worry that his lover and his charge was unconscious, and then magic also reached his overwhelmed brain.


	28. The Pain of Separation

Harry woke slowly, his thoughts unwilling to leave the sexual high of his dreams. Yet, gradually his senses told him that there was no body pressed close anymore, that the shared frenzy was over. The young wizard came out of oblivion with a strong sense of loss, and he mourned the missing intimacy with a low moan. His magical instincts were already searching for the power he wanted back as he opened his eyes to look for his partner. Yet it was not Draco on whom his gaze came to rest, and Harry frowned as his still dazed brain recognised Severus Snape. The awakening gaze interrupted the man in mid-stride, his face as black as thunder, his arms crossed so tightly across his body that breathing must have been difficult, and his wand tapping madly against one arm. Harry felt the weight of his ex-professor's enraged glare, but for a moment there was frustrated silence as thoughts visibly warred behind the older man's eyes. Harry sunk into pillows, recognising the feel of his own bed, and he stayed very still, suddenly embarrassed, as he concluded how he and his lover must have been found for him to be back here. At that instant, anyone, even Amelia Bones would have been preferable to facing down the often cutting adversary, and Harry cursed his luck as the uncomfortable impasse continued.

Harry tried to steel himself for whatever scathing comment Snape produced, but his mind refused to respond too quickly, distracted by memories of the intense union even as the consequences mortified him. He hovered between humiliation and want, unable to think of anything to say to the accusation which he saw very clearly in his opponent's eyes. Yet the young man could see other ideas in Severus' harsh expression, things he couldn't decipher, things which confused the moment, and he was totally unprepared for the actual words which finally came from Snape's mouth.

"Would you agree, Potter, that if you had left this to your betters this would never have happened?" the man asked haltingly, clearly searching for the right phrasing.

Harry just blinked back at his adversary, confused by the strange question and wary of the conflicting mixture of signals he was reading from Snape. The older wizard was holding back his emotions, barely, but he was making a desperate effort to control his temper. That made no sense to his subject, who was more than used to flaming rows with the severe man: ever since they had left behind the teacher-pupil relationship, neither had held back when their emotions had been inflamed. For Severus Snape to restrain himself, now, of all times, when he had so much ammunition, made no sense to Harry. Unless something was wrong. Instantly the thought occurred, Harry's concern skipped from facing down his opponent to worrying about Draco. His lover's name slipped out of his mouth as anxiety took the place of anything else, and he sat up rapidly.

Severus took a step away from the bed, and his face showed uncharacteristic alarm.

"Draco," Harry repeated, distressed by the reaction, which could only mean something bad.

"Do you agree that you put yourself into harm's way?" Snape recovered himself and asked his question with more urgency.

"Where is he?!" the young man demanded, ignoring the enquiry as nasty ideas occurred to him.

"You cannot deny that some of the responsibility lies with you, you knew the danger you faced," the tall figure's expression grew harder, but at the same time his voice sounded more desperate.

The confusing stance of his adversary just began to annoy Harry, and he wasn't really listening to the words as his instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong. As unconsciousness cleared, his body was clarifying the loss he felt: it was Draco's presence in his spirit that was missing. The link had been severed and the space where it should have been ached.

"Where's Draco?" Harry insisted, louder this time, defensive anger coming through with his worry.

The young wizard had rarely seen Slytherin's old housemaster out of his depth, but the stiff, awkward attitude from the wiry man told Harry that he had the advantage. He knelt up, aggressive in his concern, and commanded in a shout, "Tell me where he is!"

The response did not come from Snape, instead, the door flew open, and Neville charged in. Concern went through shock to anger on the healer's face as he laid eyes on Harry's visitor, and he assessed the situation.

"Get out!" came straight from his lips with an authority which could not be denied.

Severus looked from patient to healer and back again, guilt, now very clearly, warring with other emotions. Finally, he leant on the bed, and fixed Harry with his stare as he asked, "I have to know, will you press charges?"

Harry felt his jaw drop, and he sagged for a second, taken totally unawares by the question. He could see a burning need to protect, concern, anger, all fighting for supremacy in Snape's eyes and it trapped him into the moment. This made even less sense, and the young man wondered if he was still dreaming. Yet Neville dragged him back out of the surreal moment as he ordered, "Out!"

This time, Snape's gaze transferred to the healer, and did not return. His profile showed frustration, but he pushed no more. Neville faced him down, hands on hips, sure in his jurisdiction, and in silence, the older man gave in. Watched all the way by the bristling Neville, Severus straightened his shoulders and stalked out, slamming the door behind him. The thud of wood on wood still reverberating in the room, the healer turned rapidly to his patient, and Harry found strong hands on his shoulders.

"Charges, what charges?" he asked urgently, staring into the round, concerned face of his carer for answers.

"I'm so sorry, Harry, I had no idea he'd try something like this," Neville apologised, "you don't have to think about things like that yet, you can take your time to decide."

The young man's lips worked, but nothing coherent came out as the healer's attitude and Snape's questions began to suggest an interpretation of events that would never have occurred to him otherwise. Embarrassment mixed with more concern for his lover and he eventually managed anxiously, "You think Draco attacked me?"

"You don't have to talk about it now," Neville tried to reassure, his hands gently urging his patient back down into bed.

"No, it wasn't like that," Harry objected, resisting the push as well.

"It's alright, Harry, you don't have to explain. I helped heal you," his old school-friend soothed, trying again to get him to lie down.

"I wasn't raped," he argued starkly, his body going rigid against his guide as he made his point, "I said yes."

That information stopped Neville in his tracks. Disbelief ghosted his expression, and he looked away as he sat down next to his companion and the new concept sunk in.

"But you were bound, and the bites, and scratches and..." he began, clearly having more difficulty with the new slant on the injuries he had healed.

"The magic made things...insistent," Harry settled for the less than adequate description as his own sensibilities brought colour to his cheeks.

"What magic would --?" Neville began again, and then the answer brought alarm to his features and he looked back up at his friend and asked, scandalised, "You were using sex magic?"

It was Harry's turn to look away as he nodded guiltily; sex magic was not something polite society discussed, let alone engaged in. It was, in most minds, associated with debauchery and, outside the influence of the private universe, Neville's tone made the young wizard feel dirty. He hung back from adding the extra dimension of the magic's demon source. Instead, he asked the question which still burnt a hole in his thoughts.

"Where is Draco?"

"Safe," Neville recovered himself more quickly than his companion, and laid a reassuring hand on his patient's arm, which drew Harry's gaze back up to his open face. "He's still unconscious. I wasn't expecting you to wake up so soon, either; I'm sorry, I should never have left Snape on duty outside your room, he was so agitated about the whole thing, but I had no idea he'd do what he did. Did he wake you."

Harry just shook his head as the moments of waking came back to him. Something had dragged him from oblivion, and it hadn't gone away, only been masked by the intensity of the events since. The young man concentrated on the missing part of himself, the loss that had made him so anxious, and he found the truth behind it.

"It wasn't over," he voiced the idea which made sense to his instincts.

Neville looked at him blankly, taken by surprise by the sudden clarity of thought.

"I have to be there when Draco wakes up, it isn't finished," Harry tried again, and did not get the response for which he was looking.

The healer's face clouded, and his patient saw the refusal coming. He moved before Neville's opening mouth could object, sliding off the far side of the bed and heading for the door. Now he had recognised the imperative, Harry was not going to let it drop. The assimilation was not over, Draco would need him when he woke up, and he had to be ready. Yet, Neville had the advantage of being on the side of the bed nearest the door, and he slipped into the errant man's path.

"Back to bed, Harry," his carer ordered, calmly, but firmly. "Draco's room is warded, he will be quite safe until we have had a chance to assess the situation."

The young Auror gave his friend a withering look, and tried to sidestep around the blockage; didn't Neville understand how important this was? Clearly the stoic healer did not, because he maintained his obstruction, and his face set into the determined stare that Harry knew from his school days.

"You are not fit to go running about in the middle of the night," the shorter man argued. "You need rest, and one night is not going to make any difference."

His being ached with the missing link. Draco was outside somewhere, hidden from him by spells, it could not go on. Harry took direct action, and shoved at his healer. Neville fell sideways against the bed with a cry of shock, and the would-be escapee dove past his crumpled form toward the door. His hand reached for the door knob, but his companion's voice came again, strong and sure, "Stupefacio!"

A growl his only defence, Harry could do nothing as the spell hit him. Frustration and temper fought the stunner for a moment, but they were no match for the well-aimed hex. The young man collapsed with the unmet need his only focus.

* * *

Harry woke with the rumble still in his throat and the imperative to reach Draco at the front of his mind. His complaint filled the room, and he sat up rapidly, but there he stopped as the world spun horrendously. For a few seconds he had a sinking feeling about his symptoms, which harked back to the weakness he had only just left behind, but then he noticed the bad taste in his mouth. Any wizard worth his salt knew the taste of a potion, and a sense of injustice welled up in Harry as his stomach lurched with the after-affects. It hadn't just been a stunner which had kept him asleep, from the really nasty flavour, someone, probably Neville, had been using a strong brew on him, and that offended the young Auror.

As he riled against his treatment, something else crept back into his world and flared Harry's anger even further. The sense of wrongness which had caused him to try and reach Draco in the first place was more distinct than when he had passed out.

[Interfering twits,] the patient cursed as he recognised that the intervening hours had made things worse.

His instincts were all over the place, reaching out in search of the missing piece and the mental ache was almost a physical one. This shouldn't have been happening, magical rights were being blocked, and it hurt. Growling his frustration, Harry scrabbled out of bed and headed to the door; this had to be fixed, and soon. He didn't bother with the door handle, it would be locked, the young man just raised his fist and banged on the panel.

"Let me out!" he yelled, just about finding something coherent to say.

He paused: no response. This time he thumped louder and with more urgency, and his tone got harder as he called, "Open this door, now!"

Still no-one came. Harry's skin prickled as his emotions reacted to the need in his being; he had to make them understand. With a great effort, the young man dragged himself back from the edge on which he had woken, and realised that he must have sounded like a madman. Some small amount of rational thought told him to try and explain. He leant against the door and called to whomever was listening, "Please, the assimilation wasn't finished. I need to be with Draco."

If anyone was on the other side of the door, then they gave Harry no hope that he had been understood. He slammed his palm against the wood once, but stopped himself from pummelling the barrier; he needed to be sane about this. With a sigh, the prisoner tried again, "The magic has to be absorbed - I have to be there when he wakes up."

Silence. Harry gritted his teeth as his instincts screamed at him. Something was very wrong, every fibre of his being told him that. Being calm wasn't doing any good, and the young man's patience was sorely lacking. All his frustration came out in his fists, which he used on the door, and he screamed, "Dammit, let me out! Draco!"

The panel shook, and bowed, and gathered some dents as Harry's desperation grew, but it was strong enough to withstand one man in his pyjamas with only his body as a battering ram. The futility of the fight slowly made it through to the battling captive as pain in his knuckles told him he had broken the skin. He relaxed fitfully, breathing hard and finally he groaned as the frenzy passed. He leant heavily on the door, the weight of the wrongness settling around him and he lost himself in it for a few moments.

Life went on, even if Harry was trying to block it out, and his brain would not stop moving. The pause gave the young wizard time to collect his thoughts, enough to realise that he could not fight everyone around him, enough to let good sense tell him he was going to have to be patient. Disgruntled and worried, but unable to do anything about either emotion, Harry chose to be practical. When they did come for him, he could at least show some semblance of decorum, that might help his arguments. So, the prisoner stepped away from the door, and decided to make himself presentable.

The ache didn't go away as Harry went about the mundane task of taking a shower. It hung in his mind and his spirit as he stripped off his pyjamas, which were grainy with dried sweat. It kept his shoulders taut as he stepped into the cubicle, and he barely noticed the water begin to drum on his skin. His thoughts wandered as the warm rain did at least cut him off from the rest of the world, but they found a place that just made things worse. The twinge in his instincts was still growing, and as it became more definite, Harry's body responded. His mind ran over the incredible high which had brought him to this moment, the touch of his lover, the power which had possessed them both. As the memories took over, the young man's desire hardened. Yet this was no pleasant place to be: he was not with his partner, the link had been severed, and the arousal was almost painful against the loss he was feeling. Harry rested back against the shower wall, a moan of disappointment and hurt coming from deep inside as he could do nothing about the growing heat in his body. His groin throbbed remorselessly.

The memory of lips sucking lightly on his abs came to the front of his thoughts, and Harry raised his hands away from his body, at the mercy of the lover in his mind all over again. That was just the beginning. The young man closed his eyes, unable to stem the avalanche of experience which followed, and he whimpered. The floodgate of memories opened without his conscious consent, and all at once Harry was being touched everywhere as his spirit tried to make up for the broken link. Draco's mouth, Draco's fingers, Draco's cock, all the recollections heated his body. Yet Draco was not here, he was alone and the isolation conflicted with the raw want Harry could not stop.

"No," he pleaded with his psyche, but trembled as the conscious request went unheard by his baser instincts and his passion kept on building.

His erection pulsed aggressively, and Harry dragged in an uncomfortable breath. The young man felt like he was going to burst. He had to meet the need in his body. A strange mixture of reluctance and base desire led his hand down to his shaft, and, surrendering to the physical want, Harry encircled the rigid organ. The absence of his partner did not go away, but the desperate man put it to the back of his mind, letting the memories take over. His own fingers substituted for the touch of his lover and followed the stroke in his mind. The wizard shuddered, and he groaned helplessly as sensation flowed out into his body, igniting the fire still further. He sunk into the vision in his head, that of Draco's blond crown bent enthusiastically to his groin, and tried to approximate the experience. Draco had been warm and damp and soft; the shower water and his fingers almost rigid with tension did not map very well, but Harry had little option.

The pressure built with every movement, worldly pleasure mixing with mental agony as the masturbation only intensified Harry's sense of separation. Lost in his mess of emotions, the young man sought release. Thought and action parted company as he reached the edge. Harry cried out in shock as the physical need was answered with mind-blowing intensity. Yet it lasted only a precious few seconds, and as the world came back, his spent body abandoned him to the hole in his psyche. Gasping for breath, Harry sank down the wall. His spirit felt washed out, cheated by the lonely climax, and he tried desperately not to let thought start again as the water washed away his shame.  



	29. Every Action Has An Opposite And Equal Reaction

Harry did up the last button of his shirt in the same absent manner with which he had gone about the rest of his actions since finishing his shower. Denial of the pain inside seemed the best route to staying sane, and thus far it had worked as his body remained under his purely functional control. The young man leant heavily against the edge of the bed and looked across to where he had left his socks, and that's how he stayed, just staring.

The small plain black bundle seemed very unimportant; he didn't give a damn about how cold the floor felt against his feet since everything remained largely numb in his protective cocoon. The prisoner didn't care what people saw when they looked at him now: the growing wrongness had taken even that concern away. He'd shaved and brushed his hair, more-or-less, but only out of habit, and now habit was being superseded by apathy.

Harry was still sat gazing blankly at the untouched clothing a few minutes later, and it wasn't his own actions which jolted him out of the stupor. One moment there was nothing, not thought, not emotion, and the next, the input was overwhelming. Harry's fingers wound into the bedclothes and all breath came out of his body in a moan of shock and delight as his lover's presence daggered back into him. The call touched every nerve in his body and drenched it in demanding lust. Draco wanted him and he wanted him now. Harry obeyed the command as soon as motor function returned; without hesitation, he stood and headed to the door.

This was the link, this is what had been missing, and Harry reached for the door handle knowing that it had to be fulfilled. The possessed man did not try for any spell, his lover was in control and they just wanted the door open; the panel opened with the vaguest hint of resistance that Harry felt inside, but he ignored it and charged out of the room. If a second demand had not hit him, the escapee might have made it past Remus Lupin, but as he stepped into the corridor, Draco's power swept through his body, and with a stifled groan, Harry's step faltered. The werewolf caught his charge around the waist, which was the only reason Harry stayed upright. He shuddered uncontrollably as the wave hit all the wrong buttons for sensible progress, almost hanging over his friend's arm.

"Harry," Remus let out his surprise loudly, and struggled to keep himself and his prisoner standing. He gained nothing more than a grunt from Harry, but further down the corridor, three figures came out of Poppy's office.

Harry tried to settle his instincts as he saw the barrier that Ron, Poppy and Tonks became across the corridor. Their worried faces came closer, and he shakily stood straight. Remus still had tight hold of him, and the young man found enough rational thought not to fight as logic told him it would only be detrimental to his cause. Instead he asked as coherently as possible, "Where's Draco?"

"In bed, asleep, which is where you should be," Pomfrey crossed her arms and imposed her authority in much the same way as Neville had done.

"Don't lie," the wizard snapped back, "he's not asleep. Where is he?"

The healer looked shocked at the accusation, but he could see from the guilt in her eyes that he had caught her out. However, Poppy did not reply, it was Ron who stepped in and asked Remus, "How did he get out?"

"_He_ got a Get-Out-Of-Azkaban-Free card," Harry growled back, peeved at being ignored, and swiftly losing patience with his comrades.

"How do you know Draco's not asleep?" Tonks closed in on her friend and took hold of his arm.

"He's calling," he replied shortly, half needing the support she offered, and half knowing that his odds of getting away had just dropped to negligible.

His companions looked around at each other, and Poppy made a decision as she announced, "Back inside with you, Harry, we'll put up some protection to stop this nonsense."

"No!" the young man objected in alarm as Tonks and Remus moved to turn him around, "don't shut him out, it hurts too much."

Something in his tone made his friends stop, and Poppy's face said she had recognised his sincerity. Her gaze was grave as she surveyed the half-dressed, half-wild figure and she asked, "Being apart from Draco is hurting you?"

"It's getting worse and worse," Harry admitted as calmly as he could. "The assimilation wasn't finished. I have to help Draco, I'm his guide. Please -," he began, but lost the rest of his sentence in a gasp.

Draco called again, harder, more urgent, and Remus pulled his charge into his body as Harry went weak again.

"Looks like you're in pain now Mate," Ron observed anxiously.

Harry laughed through his disorientation and snarled, "I'm not in pain!"

The look on the faces he could see told the afflicted man that his innuendo had been understood. Awkward silence fell for a few seconds, and Harry concentrated on getting his legs back under him as his comrades glanced around at each other.

"Albus is outside Draco's room, we should let him assess the situation," Remus eventually suggested.

* * *

It wasn't very far to Draco's room, he was on the other side of the medibay down a very similar corridor to the one which the small group left. However, Harry was close to trying to break from his two supporters and running the rest of the way after just the minute or so it took to reach the head of the hallway. Ron and Poppy were walking in front of him, Remus and Tonks had firm hold of his arms; neither the blocking of his path, nor the restrictions on his movement, however much they were helping to keep him upright, made the young man's condition any better. Draco's want was getting worse as Harry's absence persisted, and the effects from the last demand were still running through Harry as the tightly formed group entered the fray.

Albus Dumbledore was stood at the end of the corridor, apparently in deep conference with four other colleagues. Minerva and Malcolm had their backs to the approaching group, Severus and Moody were in profile. It was the old headmaster who noticed company first, and Harry felt his inspecting gaze fall onto him almost immediately. The demon's victim did his best to stand straight as he laid eyes on those who would try to dictate his fate, but he was trembling and his arousal was obvious to anyone who chose to look. His companions did at least offer him the dignity of standing alone as they released his arms, but the four figures remained protectively around him.

"Harry," Albus began, some surprise in his voice, if not in his steady stare, "you should not be here."

"On the contrary," Harry returned as smoothly as he could manage, "I have to be here."

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as his instincts told him another call was coming. Bodies closed around him, but he held them off with a wave of his hands: he had to be strong. Harry locked his knees, and it was the only reason he stayed standing as a wave of unadulterated, frustrated passion ran straight through him. He couldn't stifle the groan in his belly completely, but it came out in a hiss and he coughed away the sound.

"What is wrong, My Boy?" Albus questioned, as his party moved up to where their visitors had stopped halfway down the hall.

"The only thing that is wrong," Harry barely contained the growl of annoyance that the blockade caused him, "is that you interrupted a magical assimilation, and I have to help Draco finish it, or things are just going to get worse."

There was now a very effective wall of wizards and witches between him and Draco, and Harry stared at it defiantly, watching all the faces carefully. Minerva looked worried, and in his own mysterious way, so did Albus, but it was mixed with the detached calm of always. Snape was wearing the same kind of expression he had used at school when finding a pupil out of bounds. Moody and Malcolm were frowning, and clearly disapproved of whatever Harry was about. Poppy and Ron turned as well; his best friend wouldn't look him in the eye, and Poppy looked like she really wanted to lock him up and throw away the key for good measure. As all eyes settled on him, Harry felt the first pangs of embarrassment: he was standing in front of his peers, very clearly horny as hell and he could see questions behind every gaze.

"What is happening, Harry?" Minerva rescued him from the uncomfortable silence.

"Start from the beginning," Malcolm added.

The young man drew in an unsteady breath and offered, "Draco couldn't control his magic, so we were using manifestation and assimilation of different bits of it to help him get used to it. The last assimilation isn't finished, Draco is still being influenced by it."

Harry looked around at the gathered company, feeling out-numbered. It didn't help when Draco chose to demonstrate that influence again. The wizard swore and grabbed for the wall; he leant up against the paintwork, gasping as every nerve in his body demanded that he be with his lover.

"Quite clearly this is affecting you as well," Albus understated the fact as usual.

The young Auror gave him a withering look underneath the arm which he was using to support himself against the wall. Yet he reigned in his instincts, this wasn't helping and he explained, "He's calling."

"Precisely what magic is Mr Malfoy assimilating?" Snape asked the pertinent question, the suspicion of what it might be behind the accusatory tone.

Harry turned back round to face his companions, flattening his back against the wall and trying to use its coolness to reduce the heat in his sweaty body. He didn't want to reveal this fact, he knew it would count against him, but he could see no other option than the truth.

"Succubus."

The shock from the less wily members of the group was obvious, and Harry knew colour was coming to his face. Snape nodded to himself, something seemed to have slipped into place in his mind, but the look he sent Harry told the young man that the information had not helped his case. Moody too didn't seem surprised, just confirmed. Albus just blinked, revealing neither his previous suspicions, nor any opinion on the disclosure. That peeved Harry, his patience was low, and he was in the mood for a confrontation. He wanted to do some digging of his own, and the presence of so many powerful people in one place aroused his suspicions.

"What is happening here?" he asked coolly, "Why are you all hovering outside Draco's room?"

The answer came from down the corridor; there was a loud crack, and a puff of smoke, and then Harry hung on to the wall again. He felt himself begin to slide sideways as his coordination disappeared into the mass of ardour which overtook him. He had to be with Draco, and soon.

"This is doing no good," Severus Snape decided to take action, and moved towards Harry. "Your presence is making things worse, Potter, you have to leave."

The man took rough hold of his quarry, stopping his decent, but at the same time lifting him away from the wall and back the way he had come. Severus took full advantage of Harry's lack of motor-function, dragging him a few feet in a way which said he didn't much care what he was going through. Snape was casting judgment, and finding him guilty of whatever crime he decided was appropriate. The attitude reminded Harry of the unfair treatment that the potions professor had meted out at school, and it made the young wizard angry. How could he even understand the depth of what was happening, let alone dare to judge? At that moment, Harry wanted to make his adversary see, to acknowledge the agony of being away from Draco, and he knew how to do it. The long hours of frustrating mind training in Snape's classroom came back to him, and the enraged wizard attacked.

"Feel it!" he snarled defensively and pushed some of the sensation into his opponent's mind.

Snape was never without defences, but he could not stop all of the intense wave. With a yelp, he released his prisoner like he had been stung and stepped rapidly away. Not much had got through the barriers, but his disbelief and lack of composure as he stared back at Harry told the young man that he had succeeded. Severus' sallow skin had actually gained a little colour on his cheeks. However, the shock settled to a supercilious hatred, and the man smiled. His subject had a sinking feeling that he had not helped himself, and then Snape sneered, "You're spellbound, Potter. He's not in control, the succubus power has him ensnared."

"I tend to agree, Harry. Demon power is very dangerous, and Draco is using it to break wards to get to you. We shall have to remove you for your own safety," Dumbledore stepped in, authority in his manner.

Ron didn't need any more leave; the red-head had clearly been uncomfortable with the whole thing and he moved less aggressively than Snape, but with the same aim. Harry had reached the end of his tether, and, fed up, he shoved angrily at his best-friend and yelled, "Dammit, will you people stop treating me like a bloody victim!"

Ron slammed in to Remus, who stopped him from hitting the opposite wall. Harry scrabbled to stay upright, and prepared to fight anyone who tried to close in on him again. However, it was his old headmaster who stepped into the space left around the bristling man, and he did not reach out. The ancient face showed concern and disapproval, and his stare fixed Harry into place.

"You have given us no reason to behave otherwise, Harry. I will not risk your life based on this irrational behaviour," he spoke calmly and clearly.

The young man closed his eyes, torn by his instincts to strike out and run, and his respect for the formidable figure who blocked his path to Draco. Dumbledore's strength reached the reason in his possessed psyche, and he dragged a breath in through gritted teeth to try and stem the urges which were getting worse.

"It isn't just the succubus magic," Harry admitted with a sigh, unable to meet his mentor's gaze as he realised what he was about to disclose; feeling very exposed, the young man told his companions, "She only came out because of what Draco was already feeling. Yesterday wasn't the first time."

The silence was tangible. Harry struggled to find some dignity in being the uncomfortable centre of attention, but only managed defiance as he forced his gaze away from the floor and told Albus directly, "Why the hell do you think Daddy was so pissed off?"

The younger wizard couldn't see his friend's mind work like he had Snape's, but he watched his face anyway, waiting for some kind of response. If Dumbledore had been shocked, or even surprised, he didn't reveal it in either his unfaltering stare, or his level voice as he responded, "This does not change the fact that Draco is out of control and using demon power to attack you, Harry."

"He's not attacking me," the dark-haired man countered, hanging on to his short fuse, "He's trying to finish what we started. The succubus is just a mental exercise." Harry glanced round at all the faces, and his explanation clearly did not sit well with them, so he pressed on, "Okay, a very potent mental exercise, but Draco can put the magic away if I help him."

Someone said something, but Harry missed it as his lover's patience dropped further and another ward blew. He couldn't stop the very obvious groan this time and the world went away in a sexual haze for a few seconds. When he met it again, he was crumpled at the base of the wall, and Albus was beside him, a hand under his elbow.

"My Boy, you do not appear to be able to even help yourself," the old man observed honestly.

"It's only going to get worse," Harry promised. "At least I'm coherent now, I can talk to Draco, bring him out of it. Give us another half hour and Draco will have destroyed every ward you can think of, and I won't be in any state to stop him. Do you want that?"

The young wizard held his breath as his prediction was considered, and then relief flooded through him as he saw the decision in his companion's face.

"It appears that we have little choice," Albus concluded, and reached in to the sleeve of his robe.

Harry relaxed a moment as his wand was slipped back between his fingers, but with the erotic need running through his being, he could not stay still for long. As he shifted position, a hand came down to him and gratefully he took the assistance from Remus. He was pulled to standing by the werewolf, whose stare was noncommittal, and he managed a thank you smile, but avoided all other gazes except Dumbeldore's. Harry could feel the line over which he had stepped behind him, and it warned that things had changed irrevocably. Yet he ignored it, there would be time later for whatever accusations were going to fly. For now, he turned to face the door nestled beside an observation window at the bottom of the corridor.

* * *

Harry had absolutely no doubts about what he was doing until the door closed behind him and he laid eyes on Draco. The blond man was curled up, statuesque against the head of an ordinary-looking hospital bed. His stillness belied the want in the demonised wizard, and Harry met gazes with a savage as the door closed behind him. Draco's pyjama top was torn, hanging half off his body; his hair fell madly over his face. Yet it was the sheer ferocity in his eyes which told Harry that he may have exaggerated his own power. His instincts churned as the young man tried to find something to say. He fought the impulse which told him to run into his lover's embrace and surrender, and, moving slowly into the room, spoke as calmly as he could, "Draco, it's time to let Godi go."

Draco didn't move, didn't speak, but Harry was told in no uncertain terms what his partner thought of that idea: Harry made it only as far as the centre of the room before a demand ten times as strong as those he had felt outside the wards daggered right through him. The uncontrolled lust ripped out from every pleasure centre in his body at once, ecstasy and agony mixed into one. Helplessly, the young man collapsed to his knees, his cry echoing the heady mess of sensation.

The sound died to nothing as Harry leant on his hands and tried not to curl into the ball that his overwhelmed experience told him to. He trembled, weak and disoriented by what he had to classify as an attack. The door rattled behind him, but no-one came in. Harry lifted his head to look upon his dominator, afraid, but needing him all at the same time. Draco's stare was cast on the entrance, his eyes narrowed and angry, but his attention slipped confidently back to his victim as he realised he was being watched. He smiled. Harry's resolve melted as he was seduced by the handsome features all over again. Nothing else mattered, he wanted the warm touch, the enlivening intimacy, and he would give anything for it.

Slowly, Draco uncurled, a cat with his mouse, sure in his own hypnotic abilities. Harry's groin throbbed without the need for another call as his thoughts focused on the promise in his lover's eyes. He knelt back onto his heels as his need stalked over to him, and his wand slipped from out of his hand unnoticed once more. The slave looked up at his master, hunger in his gaze and accepted a benevolent hand that slipped behind his head. He followed the guide which stretched his torso up against Draco's poised body. In adoration, he rubbed his palms against his dominator's thighs and was allowed to rest his cheek on the firm stomach.

A loud banging on glass came from behind him, annoying his infatuated world, and with a frown, Harry moved to glare at the disturbance. However, he halted, a painful catch in his throat as fingers wound viciously into his hair and tipped his face upwards. Draco's glare was again narrowed behind his prey, but the thumping stopped as his frown became a grin of triumph. There was a message being sent between his subjugator and -- Harry couldn't remember who, and he didn't really care. His body was singing as Draco finally looked down on him, and he parted his lips willingly as a mouth was bent to his own.

The hammering started again, and rattling and someone was yelling, but all the sounds were far away and didn't really matter to Harry as the seductive power wrapped him in pleasure. He reached up to his lover's head and shoulders, steadying himself as his neck strained at the awkward angle. This is what he had been wanting since the first sense of loss, and for a few seconds, Harry surrendered to it, willing to give anything that was desired. Yet the noisy distraction continued, and even Draco's overwhelming kiss could not block it out completely.

Harry could hear his name, he recognised the desperate voice which called it, even as he tried to deny that Ron Weasley could have any impact on his current world. The promises he had made, the consequences of yielding, all came creeping back to the young man despite any efforts he made to keep them away, and the kiss did not seem quite so rewarding anymore: his neck hurt; Draco's fingers were pulling mercilessly at his scalp. Gradually, Harry began to resist.

The palms which had been rubbing intently over Draco's shoulders turned to pushing them away. His lover's response was an even more painful grasp on Harry's skull, but the victim began to fight back. He shifted, trying to break the embrace, and to the chagrin of his captor, he succeeded. Draco let go as his own passion was interrupted by his subject's objections, but as he was released, Harry was shown the punishment for rejection. Draco's hand came across his slave's face with considerable force, and with a grunt of shock and pain, Harry went sprawling backwards while his glasses flew in a different direction.

Draco glared down on his subjugate, his eyes blazing with his displeasure. Harry could not fail to be impressed with the openly dominant stance, but he stifled the familiar thrill of abandon with the insidious touch of reality that his comrade's distractions inspired. Gratefully, he glanced at the window where Ron was leaning, his fists paused against the glass as he watched the break in relations. Yet when the young man turned his attention back to his partner, Malfoy was watching Ron as well, and he was grinning again. He waved his hand once towards the anxious red-head, and then the window and door were gone. Harry wasn't sure if he was seeing illusion or reality, but he stood rapidly as Draco's attention refocused on him.

"Let it go, Draco, remember who you are, what we were trying to do," Harry urged, trying to remain calm as he faced down lust personified.

"Don't you want me anymore, Playmate?" Draco returned, his tone as heavy as his gaze.

Harry couldn't stop the throb of arousal as he was admired, but he held up his hands in defence as Draco advanced. He was loathed to try and hit his partner, and so his protest did little good as he was powered up against the wall. The demon-possessed wizard gave his lover no time for another vocal objection, as his mouth covered Harry's, and he leant heavily on the palms which tried to keep him away. Sexual energy coursed through Harry, and his body responded. Harry tried to push it out, fought with it, as it made every fibre reverberate with yearning for his dominator, but slowly it destroyed his hold on reality again, and the young man forgot his argument.

As he relaxed and opened to a deeper caress, his lover's satisfied murmur sparked a wonderful strength in Harry. He slid his arms over his companion's shoulders, and trembled as, with the barrier gone, Draco pressed intimately close. He was truly where he wanted to be, and Draco could have anything he could take.

There was an impatience in the way Draco moved, he had been calling for a long time, Harry's instincts told him that, and he followed eagerly on the race to fulfilment. One long-fingered hand was in Harry's hair again, guiding the kiss, but Harry groaned deeply as he found out where the other had gone. His partner's hand slid down the front of Harry's jeans, as Draco's magic performed the same task with the fly as it had done before, and then there was nothing between the lovers' arousals. Fingers encircled both erections, applying just a little pressure, and Harry had to break the kiss as his body demanded a gasp of delighted air.

Draco drew his face back until he came into focus, and the look in his eyes said that he was as infatuated with his quarry as Harry was with him. The ice-blue gaze effortlessly succeeded in drawing its victim further into the snare. The aggression was dimmed, muted by Harry's capitulation, but Harry knew it was there waiting if it was needed, and the idea did nothing to stem the flow of adrenaline which was adding to the cocktail of experience. Every sense was open to his lover, Harry could smell the sex all over Draco, hear it in his tight breathing, feel it deep down inside where his instincts still whipped up his own response. Yet it was touch which was having the most effect, and the young man let out another long moan as slowly and deliberately, Draco moved his hips and sensitive skin stroked against sensitive skin. Harry couldn't help himself, as bliss spiralled out from his arousal, he pushed into the contact.

His lover's breath fell heavy against Harry's ear as Draco let the pleasure take him, but the demon-wizard made no sound. Harry hung on to him, and made enough noise for both of them as the next thrust came harder and faster. He tipped his head back and responded in any way his lover required, losing himself in the desire which drowned everything else. This was heaven, wrapped close with the body which made him complete and there was nothing else. His exclamation came with each movement, as he let go of any control, sometimes no more than a grunt, at others a word, a name, a curse. Still, his master remained breathily silent.

The world was spinning, he was close to the edge and Harry was in ecstasy. Draco's touch drove him on, maddening his senses, releasing him from all responsibility. In that freedom, he heard the voice of his dominator, and he was asked plainly, "Do you want this?"

Harry could feel the demon power running through him, touching every part of his soul, waking it to the intense pleasure and he knew what demand would be made for fulfilment. Yet here life meant nothing, the passion was everything, and if death was the price, then he would pay it willingly: there could be nothing greater than the erotic intimacy he was sharing.

"Yes," he answered, his voice strangled by pursuit of the mutual fervour.

Instantly, a mouth covered his, and Harry opened to the last kiss he would ever receive. The hold on his spirit tightened, but Harry submitted to it willingly, the prospect of death merely heightening the sensations which were taking him there. This was completion, this was all he wanted and he sought the climax that would be his destruction with a hunger which echoed that of his master. He belonged to Draco, and nothing could break the ecstatic stranglehold as the demon's victim reached his end. Harry tensed and then ascended into the explosion of pleasure, ready to give everything he had to the demand all around him. Yet, as he thrust one last time, Draco broke the murderous press of lips with a scream of rejection and his partner was abandoned to the cascading sensations.

* * *

Harry clung to his lover for a long time after the orgasmic high had subsided, letting his breathing settle and trying to handle a confused regret that he was still alive. The overwhelming influence of the sex magic was gone, and without it, the disappointment was not a serious emotion, just a leftover strangeness that floated in his hazy psyche, but it preoccupied him as he wondered at the power of the demon seduction. The world was returning with every breath, and slowly, Harry remembered his responsibilities. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold around Draco's neck, and lifted his head from where he had relaxed it against the other man's neck.

"Draco," he began, concerned by the stillness in his companion.

The young wizard did not respond immediately, but Harry just waited, aware of his own daze and giving his lover time to recover. Eventually, Draco pulled back a little way, and his eyes were round with shock as he confessed, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Harry smiled, oddly at ease with the close call and wanting to share that feeling. "After the morning I've had, I needed that."

"I nearly killed you," Draco returned, his guilt unabated, and clearly not believing the lack of disquiet.

"But you didn't," Harry countered smoothly, an inch as good as a mile as far as he was concerned, "and you were incredible."

Draco just stared back at the happy-go-lucky grin he was sent and Harry indulged his libido a little more as he considered how handsome the sharp features opposite really were. Even tousled and agape, Draco Malfoy could make his knees go weak. Harry stifled that thought as he realised his partner's emotions ran deeper than his own for the consequences of the sex magic. He straightened and offered, "Draco, I walked in to this room convinced that whatever magic was in control of you, you would not harm me. No matter what happened in between, however mad we got, you met my expectations. I have to say that I would rather not have had to be quite so blatant about our relationship in front of my friends, but that's their fault for separating us in the middle of everything."

"How did they take the news?" Draco enquired anxiously and he dropped his gaze.

"None of them looked too pleased. They thought you'd attacked me at first, and then they wanted to blame the magic, but then I told them that it wasn't the first time. Since my life in Hogwarts's hell seems to be being treated like everybody's property, I think I'm going to be having some embarrassing conversations in the near future," Harry shrugged, trying not to consider it too deeply until he had to.

His companion opened his mouth and Harry saw another apology ready to come out; he didn't want that, he didn't really want to have to consider the ramifications of the last few hours' events, and so he silenced the concern with a kiss. Draco resisted for a second, but they were both still reeling in the leftover sex, and he moulded to Harry as the ardour heightened again for a while. It didn't last long, but the heady reassurance had softened the frown as his companion came back into Harry's view.

"So what do we do now?"

Several very enticing, but impractical ideas leapt into Harry's thoughts at Draco's question, and his lover saw them, because he laughed and observed, "I thought I was the one with the one-track mind."

"I have my moments," the dark-haired man responded with a crinkled smile, but then remembered the alarm he had last seen outside and forced himself to be practical. "You really ought to put the door back, but first," he glanced down at their disarrayed clothing, "I think we should clean up. I suggest I handle that since I can guarantee not to blast anything off with my cleaning spell."

Reluctantly, the pair parted. Draco found Harry's glasses, and then Harry went for his wand. A quick word and any signs of their encounter were gone. Harry couldn't resist the urge to help his partner reorder his pyjamas, and that led to another short embrace, but within a few minutes the couple decided it was time to face the reception committee outside.

"This is probably going to be accusatory," Draco muttered, as he took his place next to Harry in the centre of the room.

"I'm still alive, and you're coherent, what more can they want?" Harry quipped, but he wasn't really feeling the confidence he was trying to portray, and he knew Draco could see that; he had no idea what the fall out from this incident was going to be, except for a certainty that he was going to lose his wand again, and what was more, a distinct embarrassment was creeping up on him.

"Ready?" his companion asked, rubbing a hand on his arm supportively.

"Ready," he replied and turned his attention to the magical wall.

One moment there was a blank wall, the next, Harry was faced with a scene of blind desperation through the window. Ron, Tonks and Moody had been hammering on the window, which halted in shock as they once more made contact with their comrade. Several bangs and puffs of magical smoke were going off behind them, as the others attempted to break in, and Moody spun towards them to announce the change in circumstance. The attention moved to the door, and Harry just watched, his heart moving up into his mouth, as the handle turned. Yet the young man did not see who came in first. Instead, Draco's hand grabbed on to his sleeve, and he turned to the urgency he could feel in the hold. Alarm ran up through the Auror as he saw the grey which had come to his lover's face.

"I -," Draco began weakly, but his eyes rolled in his head before he could continue.

Draco crumpled like a rag doll, and only automatic reaction allowed Harry to catch the failing man. He staggered backwards as he was suddenly supporting all of his partner's weight, but was not left to cope alone. Snape appeared rapidly on Draco's other side, and for once in accord, the two men hauled his helpless form to the bed.

"Poppy!" Harry called anxiously, hoping the healer was still amongst the group.

"I'm here, Mr Potter," the woman called back confidently, and smoothly she replaced Severus at Draco's aid.

Harry clung to his companion as the carer went about a quick assessment, his heart pounding with a whole new, unwelcome excitement. However, his anxiety was muted a little as Draco groaned and opened his eyes. He shifted weakly, and Harry slackened his hold, but did not let go.

"Do not look so worried, Harry," Pomfrey gave him a quick glance of reassurance, "Mr Malfoy has overexerted himself. Nothing that a decent meal and a good sleep can't fix. Now help me get him back into bed."

Poppy probably didn't need the help from an over-anxious boyfriend, but Harry was grateful as she allowed him to fuss. Draco was not responding clearly, he seemed confused and suddenly tired, but he recognised Harry and seemed calmer for it. Harry hovered by the bed, his hand firmly around his lover's as Madame Pomfrey finished tucking in her new patient.

"He'll be fine," she promised his still troubled attention, and then she skirted swiftly round the bed and asked, "And what about you?"

"Still standing," Harry answered flippantly, but submitted to having his pulse taken.

"Mr Potter," Poppy fixed him with a warning stare.

"A bit tired," he admitted, becoming aware of the fact that he was now the centre of attention for everyone who had piled into the room.

"What happened?" Malcolm broached the subject first.

"Draco broke out of the magic before he killed me," Harry replied, hoping that no more details would be required.

"Not good enough, Auror Potter," came from the doorway, and everyone turned to see Amelia Bones in a temper that gave the subject of her wrath a sinking feeling. "Is he fit, Madame Pomfrey?" The healer nodded. "With me, everyone."

An uncomfortable silence fell as the impressive woman spun on her heel. People began to head to the door, but Harry turned back to the bed. He could see enforced separation from his partner in his future, and the unfairness of it flared some defiance in him. With a brief glance at Poppy, who had her professional face on, he bent down to the recumbent Draco. Lovingly, he stroked a bang from his forehead and placed a farewell kiss. Draco shifted in response, but he was already mostly asleep. Meekly, Harry then followed his comrades.


	30. Love?

The shock of Draco's collapse had distracted Harry from his own emotions, but as he found himself flanked by several silent friends, his thoughts began to revolve back around himself. He was beginning to feel the cold under his bare feet, but physical discomfort was the least of his worries. The storm on Amelia's face had said to him he had burnt his bridges with her, and the stiff Coventry, into which his companions had placed him, suggested that he was equally impoverished for support from every direction. He didn't bother to follow the route which was begin taken, it wouldn't have meant much anyway, instead, he stared at the ground, relying on the bottom of Minerva's robe ahead to make sure he didn't walk into anything, and just contemplated his fate: this wasn't fair, he was being treated like a leper and the disapproval in the air around him riled the young man.

[How dare they judge!] he simmered.

Harry was feeling good and defiant by the time the uncomfortable group entered what turned out to be an empty classroom, and he was glaring at the world in general as he was left standing by the teaching desk while the others took various seats around the room. He tried to use his anger to mask the feelings of exposure which were welling up behind it, and he met Amelia head-on as she turned at a front row table, but remained standing. Madame Bones was not a woman to challenge, and her features set hard as she began, "Auror Potter, your behaviour over the last twenty four hours was unprofessional and needlessly dangerous. What is more, you have been wilfully concealing the true nature of your attachment to Draco Malfoy."

"Professionalism wasn't high on my priority list when it came to saving Draco's life," Harry spat back. "And I may have been vague about my relationship to Draco, but I made the consequences of my feelings very clear."

"Precisely why did you feel it necessary to lie to us?"

"I didn't lie!" the young man defended hotly, his temper almost out. "I didn't tell you because I wanted to avoid conversations like these!"

"If you did not wish to share this information with us, then you should not have allowed it to interfere with your duties," Amelia was also very close to shouting.

"You think I planned this?!" Harry snarled incredulously. "The only plan I had when I went in to remove those bloody runes was to keep Draco alive."

Superior and subordinate were glaring at each other from either side of a chasm, and there appeared to be no way to the middle. Yet a calm voice entered the fray.

"My friends, I believe it would be pertinent to start from the beginning," Albus stood smoothly and drew everyone's attention with his quiet, but sensible authority.

The old man's stare seemed to remind Amelia of her station in life, and she visibly settled. Harry just watched as she took a deep breath and sat down, less willing than the well-controlled woman to let go of his ire. His mentor waited, and under his undemanding gaze, slowly the young man felt the defensiveness drop away.

"Harry, we have no wish to cause you further distress, these last few weeks have been difficult enough for you as it is," Dumbledore began when Harry sat awkwardly back against the desk, "but you must understand that we have our own responsibilities. We have to try and assess Draco, especially now in view of his considerable capabilities. That may require you to answer some questions you may find intrusive, but I would ask you to be open with us. I believe I speak for us all when I say that this conversation will go no further than those of us present."

"As always, I don't seem to have much choice," the young wizard muttered back, still unimpressed with the proceedings.

Albus blinked at him over his spectacles and fixed his younger comrade as he said very firmly, "Quite."

Harry glared at the old man for a moment, shocked by the direct use of authority and its implications. Yet he looked away, unsure of himself, as he realised that not even one of his oldest confidants was going to give him a way out.

"Harry, when did all this begin?" Minerva's tone was trying to be understanding as she chose the role of the 'good cop'.

There was no getting away with it, and Harry felt his cheeks begin to burn as he thought of the possible questions that were coming. He glanced up at the woman's troubled features, and then drew in a difficult breath.

"The few days Draco got me out of the tower," he answered. "We just talked at first, found out how alike our circumstances were. Then it just happened."

"Did Mr Malfoy coerce you in any way?" Snape joined in, and by his almost gloating expression, Harry knew he was going to be shown no mercy.

"No!" the young man snapped back, his face red hot.

"Did he seduce you?"

Harry couldn't really believe he was being asked such an impertinent question, but as he stared openly at Snape's sure, triumphant sneer, no-one came to his rescue. Yet Harry felt the same kind of defiance rise in himself that he had used to hide his degradation in the torture chamber. He met his tormentor's tone with a taunt, "Yes, like any good Slytherin, he'd planned for all eventualities."

His ex-professor raised an eyebrow, but did not seem overly put down by the comment. However, he did remain silent and let another voice chime in.

"So you are why Draco changed sides?"

It was Moody. Harry shook his head vigorously, and countered, "Did none of you take me seriously when I said that he's been through five years of hell. Draco had already turned away from Voldemort, being set up to have your body stolen will do that to you."

"But he didn't do anything about it until you came along."

Harry again showed vehement opposition to that idea and answered, "He tried lots of things, everything from escape to suicide."

The young man let that one sink in, looking at the faces before him. Only Snape's was unexpected, the man looked almost grief-stricken for one private moment until he realised that he was being watched and then his gaze hardened once more. Harry drew in another breath and continued, "That's why he had a personal bodyguard even when he was among Death Eaters. He'd given up on most things by the time we met again, so I suppose I was a catalyst for his defiance to restart."

The old Auror nodded to himself as if a whole series of suspicions had been put to rest; the exposed young man just dropped his eyes back to the floor.

"Auror Potter, you were charged with a duty, you will now give account of that," Amelia was still not letting up, but her voice held less temper.

Harry gritted his teeth for a moment and tried to bury the mortification which was growing inside.

"I removed the bindrunes with the Dissuius charm," the wizard launched. "Draco collapsed. I caught him, but I was thrown off him by the magic. I hit the wall and passed out, I don't know how long for. When I came round, Draco was exhausted, power was coming out of him uncontrollably, and it was killing him. I determined that I had to get the power out of him more quickly, so I called to it."

"How did you accomplish this?" Albus cut in, and he looked genuinely interested.

"The magic was coming in waves, when the next one came, I covered Draco's mouth with my own and took the magic inside."

"Do you know how dangerous that was?!" Minerva McGonagall objected as if they were back at school.

"I was a little short of options," Harry returned, but tried not to snap as he saw the woman's protective nature towards him sitting behind her outburst. "I don't really know what happened after that, I passed out again, but when I woke up, Draco was no longer in distress."

"So why did you take it upon yourself to interfere in his magical development?" Severus snarked again, his arms folded tightly across his chest once more.

"Draco was sick after he woke up," the young man returned defensively, "he expelled some dark magic, magic he said Voldemort had told him he had put into him when he was conceived. It was what He was going to use to control all the magic. Without it, Draco was unsure he could control his magic, and he asked me to help. I didn't have any of the escaped magic inside me, but after it went through, I could, I don't know, feel Draco's power. I kept an eye on him as we used meditation to explore it."

"Can you still feel the power?" Amelia checked; Harry just nodded, but was not even allowed to get away with that as his superior asked, "What form does this take?"

The wizard paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to explain the instincts he had been using.

"Nothing I can define," he replied honestly, "but this morning, for example, I knew something was wrong even before Draco got through the wards to me."

"Wishful thinking," Snape charged derisively, "you were merely reacting to the succubus' charms."

"No!" Harry yelled, the man's attitude finally releasing his temper, and he pushed himself away from the desk towards his opponent.

However, Remus and Ron stood simultaneously and stepped into his path.

"Calm down, Harry," his best-friend advised and there was concern in his eyes; the larger man was poised, wand in hand, to stop anything physical or magical, and the idea that his comrades had assumed that he would become abusive made Harry feel sick. He did not know what he had intended to do, but he hung on to the thought that it wasn't violence.

"Here," he growled, shoving his wand out towards the red-head, "maybe if I don't have this you'll feel better."

The young man could feel himself begin to shake as Ron actually looked to Amelia for instruction. The woman nodded, and with a guilty set to his features, the Auror relieved their unknown quantity of his weapon. Harry stared up at the ceiling as the polished wood was taken from his rigid palm, unable to really believe he was set so far apart from his comrades.

"What form did the meditation take?" Malcolm interrupted Harry's defeat.

The abandoned wizard stepped back towards the front desk, watching his companions' wariness unhappily. As loneliness settled firmly around him, Harry replied blandly, "Just a trick from school. I guided Draco to a mental exercise, a power lake."

A snort came from Snape as he recognised the technique and gave his opinion on it; the man was fixed by stares from Remus, Tonks and Minerva, and he shifted in his seat, straightening his sneer.

"Go on, Harry," Minerva encouraged, her school-ma'am disapproval still aimed directly at Severus.

"I instructed Draco to reach in to the lake and bring different aspects of his magic out, to get used to them," the young man continued. "Draco manifested the aspects with incredible independence, and when he was ready, he assimilated them. He was left with influence from each for a while after the assimilation: he had to work through the instincts and urges this produced."

"And the succubus was one such influence?" Albus clarified.

Again, Harry just nodded, the heat returning to his face; he felt like bolting and finding somewhere to hide until everyone forgot about him, but his feet were leaden, so he just had to bear the looks from open condemnation in Snape's case to troubled disquiet in Minerva's.

"You freely participated in these assimilations?" Moody was the next to offer interrogation, as direct as always, but even his gruff tone was having difficulty with the subject matter.

"Yes," the young wizard admitted thinly, his shame growing exponentially, "Draco wouldn't have...if I hadn't..."

Everyone obviously filled in the words that Harry could not find. An uncomfortable silence followed.

"Harry, why did the succubus' influence continue after you and Draco were separated," Remus was a surprise questioner, but his supportive gaze gave his friend back some spirit.

"It wasn't finished," the young man fortified his voice, and spoke slowly as he sorted out his own recollections and conclusions. "The length of time it took Draco to become accustomed to the magic depended on the strength of the magical manifestation. The succubus was very powerful, much more so than anything else he'd conjured, and I guess because we passed out, Draco didn't finish the assimilation. It was only when he had to choose between absorbing the magic and killing me that he had enough strength to complete it."

"This is a concern," Amelia stated. "If Mr Malfoy becomes possessed by something this powerful again, who is to say what could happen."

"It's only a mental exercise," Harry countered, needing to be sure of himself as he added, "It got this bad because we were kept apart and Draco couldn't break out alone."

"Do you really think you can control Malfoy's magic?" Snape challenged scathingly. "You were lucky this time, Potter, that's all."

"I have a damn sight better chance than the rest of you," the defender retorted, equally as dismissive.

"Because you're such good friends?" Severus climbed to his feet, all the venom he'd been harbouring in his manner.

Ron and Remus also rose to their feet again, each taking up a position in front of one of the sparrers. Harry knew he had to be bright red by now, but fury burnt underneath his humiliation and he barely resisted the urge to push his friend out of the way to reach his opponent. He was standing on his toes, ready to fly, and Snape just stood behind Lupin, his arms crossed, gloating at the emotions he had raised. Harry was searching for something to say, but the purely hateful comment had caught him unawares, and it was Amelia who stepped in.

"I think we have heard enough. Auror Potter, you will be escorted back to your room, and I want a full report on my desk tomorrow morning. Are we clear?"

The young man glared at his superior, aghast that not only had he suffered the interrogation, but that he was going to have to put quill to parchment as well. Yet there was absolutely no joke about Amelia Bones, and the finality of the order sat firmly on the well-trained Auror's shoulders.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied stiffly, feeling a similar indignance to that which he had felt when faced with Umbridge's lines.

The young man then just watched as the woman stalked out of the room.

* * *

Harry kept his eyes on Amelia's wide back until she disappeared from view, then he couldn't face any more stares, so he turned to the blackboard, not really taking much notice of the scrawled text there, but examining it anyway. He listened to the silent shuffling as all went to leave, and he bit his lip as not one person addressed him. There were no goodbyes, see-you-laters, not even a sneer from Snape, just uncomfortable, disapproving silence. His skin bristled with the innate shame his comrades' opinions caused in him, and he couldn't fight it. He cared too much about these people to brush aside their judgments, however much he wanted to make them see that they were wrong. He could feel the accusations in the air: the sex magic, the demon influence, Draco, he should have been the responsible one, he should have stopped it before it had started, and, yet, the young man stood in his isolation and knew that nothing he could have done would have changed things in the long term.

A hand on his arm snapped Harry out of his musings before they sunk too low; he started and turned to see an unexpected expression on Tonks' face. The woman was trying to smile, and her squeeze of his wrist backed up the support in her manner.

"Come on, Harry, I'll take you back to your room."

Confused by the sudden change in signals, Harry just fell in beside his friend and they headed out of the now empty classroom. They walked in silence for a few yards, but Nymphadora Tonks, it became apparent, had something to say, and once they were out in the corridor, she began tentatively, "Are you alright, Harry?"

"Apart from being crispy round the edges?" he returned, his surprise at Tonks' enquiry stemming some of the venom just under the surface.

"The oldies will take time to get used to the idea of you and Draco," the female Auror returned, a shrug on her shoulders, and a not-too-serious grimace on her lips, "but, don't worry, they'll come round. It's just that they blamed themselves, especially Albus, when we all thought you'd been attacked by Draco, and then they thought it was the magic. No-one likes feeling guilty, and they're narked at you."

"And you aren't?" Harry asked, feeling better about himself already.

The woman shook her head vigorously and replied, "No. Sorry I didn't back you up in there, but what with Severus being such an obnoxious git, I didn't want to start another argument and make things worse."

Part of Harry wished his comrade had waded in, but he could see her reasoning, and satisfied himself with the fact that he was not quite as isolated as he had thought. He shrugged, and managed a thin smile, which encouraged Tonks, and she launched, "I could have decked Snape, the toad. Just because Albus tore him off a strip when Neville told him that he'd been bothering you, he takes revenge. He's been like a doxy with toothache since we found you two."

"But no-one stopped him," the young man let his petulance out for a moment, and then regretted it as he saw discomfort cross the face of his only ally. He pressed on, "He was acting really strangely last night."

"He was trying to excuse what we all thought Draco did, find reasons why Draco shouldn't be charged with assault," Tonks explained. "Ron nearly hexed him, but he wouldn't shut up. He's been acting really protective of Draco since he got here, and all our emotions were running high last night."

"I'm sorry," Harry responded before he really had a chance to think about it; then he wasn't sure if all of him meant it, but his companion rubbed his arm supportively, and he chose not to qualify the apology.

"You did what you had to," the young woman encouraged. "Until this morning, I thought you'd been acting really strangely about Draco, but now it makes sense of all of it."

"What makes sense?"

Tonks grinned and winked as she whispered conspiratorially, "The fact that you're in love."

Harry came to a rapid halt, and he knew his jaw was hanging open. He'd heard the words, he'd understood what they meant, and his instant response was shocked confusion. As he brought their party of two to a stop, his companion looked startled for a moment, but then she laughed, and she slapped him on the back as she observed, "Men! Don't tell me you hadn't thought about it like that."

"I -," the young wizard began, but there was nothing to come after it.

"Oh you are so in love," Tonks teased, and Harry caught himself frowning at her; the woman stepped back for a moment, and with a confident look asked, "Who have you been fighting for like a dragon on a nest since you got here?"

"Draco," Harry answered slowly, still somewhat unsure about the revelation, but he received a nod of affirmation from his friend.

"Who makes you feel happy, as if nothing else matters when you're with him?"

"Draco," again he had to agree, and his stomach did a somersault as the possibility of Tonks being right sidled into his thoughts.

"And the clincher," his comrade winked again, leaning in with innuendo heavy in her voice, "who's the first person you think about when you _daydream_?"

Harry blinked at his friend, aghast by her impropriety, as he concluded she meant something far less innocent than daydreaming. However, he found himself wanting to answer the question.

"Draco," he replied, the skin on the back of his neck beginning to prickle warmly as his objections to Tonks' observation slid away.

"Told yer!" the woman grinned triumphantly, and used another slap on the back to get them moving again.

They walked on in silence as Harry tried to make sense of the mass of emotion that Tonks had woken up. Was he really in love? Is that what this was? The young man had not searched for love since discovering the prophecy. Such a stark future had closed his thoughts to planning ahead, and he had entered relationships knowing they would not last. That knowledge had kept him from opening up to his lovers, and, in some cases, had pushed them away. Yet he had to conclude that he had opened up to Draco so completely that the memory scared him as he recognised it. The fear was a funny thing, it just made him feel good, he had risked his thoughts and feelings with this man and that created a warm tingling in his chest.

However, as he accepted the new interpretation of his emotions, a thousand questions barrelled up behind his eyes. Should he tell Draco? Would he feel the same way? Did he already know? Harry was so caught up by his thoughts that he barely noticed as a hand guided him into his room.

"Don't think about it too hard, Harry," Tonks advised lightly, drawing him out of his stupor, "you'll break something."

The humour made Harry smile, and he pushed his thoughts back for a moment as he dug, "Hermione was one thing, Tonks, I always knew she had girlie instincts, but you're quite a surprise."

The woman raised her eyebrows and hit him, but she took the comment in the strangely grateful way it was meant as she finished, "I am a woman underneath this hard Auror exterior, y'know, but if you tell Remus I'll jinx you."

Harry laughed, and was still grinning as the door was closed on him. It took a few moments for the mirth to dissipate, and Harry wasn't feeling as misunderstood as he had been only minutes earlier, but he had to let the rest of his emotions back in. So his friends, even the wise old sages, were human too: it didn't make their treatment of him feel much better, but the young man did hope that the situation could be resolved. Instead of brooding on it, he fell back on routine; pure lust had inspired many reactions in his body, one of them being sweat, and he felt grimy under his clothes. Physically wasn't the only way in which Harry was feeling dirty, and a second shower felt like a very good idea on a mental level as well. Things were going to have to be faced, not least of which was Amelia's report, but after the roasting he had received, Harry wanted to shut the world out for a little bit longer. Pulling absently at his shirt buttons as he went, and finding himself still preoccupied with his feelings for Draco, the young man headed to the bathroom.

* * *

Harry's fingertips had pruned by the time he forced himself out of the shower. The world returned almost as soon as he stepped outside the bathroom, because he entered his bedroom to find an addition to the furniture. The same way it had been when he required a chest of drawers, there now stood in the corner below the screened obs window, a writing bureau, chair and all the stationary he would need to complete the report. The young man made a face and considered knocking the ink pot over the pristine leather finish of the main surface, but then decided he should know better. Instead, he ignored it as he slowly went about assembling another set of clothes. In fact, he managed so well, that he hadn't set foot on that side of the room and was taking an age to tie his last shoelace when there was a knock at his door.

Harry wasn't sure he wanted visitors, but, undecided, he called the 'come in' anyway. Poppy was met with an unsure stare as she entered, and the young man was rather relieved when she didn't launch into an opinion.

"How's Draco?" he gathered the courage to start the conversation.

Madame Pomfrey raised an eyebrow, but her look was patient as she informed him, "Mr Malfoy needs plenty of rest. He over-exerted himself removing the wall after assimilating the succubus magic, but I've made sure he has eaten and he will probably sleep for a good while now."

"Thank you," Harry spoke from the heart, both for the reassurance and the care his friend was taking of Draco.

"Don't thank me yet, Mr Potter," the healer warned, moving to a stop in the centre of the room, "I wish to have words with you about assaulting my staff and breaking my locks."

The young man knew by the look in his carer's eyes that she was disappointed in him, and whether he had been in control of himself, or not, Harry knew he had let his friend down. He didn't offer an excuse, instead, he offered honestly, "I'm sorry."

It felt odd: this was the second person to whom he had apologised, without reservation, and deep down, the disgruntled prisoner could not reconcile his feelings on the matter. Yet, again, it proved the right course of action, because Poppy's hackles lowered.

"Well, yes, thank you," she returned, clearly caught off-guard by the direct admission of guilt, "but would you mind explaining yourself?"

For a moment, Harry wondered if he was being attacked again, but the healer saw the look in his eye and quickly qualified, "I need to know how you broke the magical lock for my own report, and as I am still your healer, I want to make sure you are truly alright after this morning's debacle."

"I think Draco broke the lock," Harry replied with a shrug, "and as for the rest of it, I'm fine."

"Allow me to be the judge of that, Harry," the woman countered, but she was easing up as she crossed to the bed. She took his wrist again, and asked, "Any dizziness, or fatigue?"

Her patient shook his head, but then thought about it some more and qualified with a frown, "Except from that potion when I woke up this morning."

Poppy didn't exactly look apologetic, but she did seem uncomfortable with the accusation in his tone. However, she met it plainly as she answered, "That was my decision, not Neville's, he called me in after he'd got you back to bed. You were breaking through the stunner, he'd had to hit you twice more, and he was concerned that Draco had enchanted you against your will. It was the sleep-chain potion or binding you to the bed, for what we regarded as your own safety, and I concluded that the potion would be less traumatic."

Harry knew the explanation was as near to a 'sorry' as he was going to get; Poppy had that professional look in her eyes, and there was no suggestion that she was questioning her own judgement. He had to agree that being tied to the bed was an experience that would have brought back far too many memories, and the chill of the idea stopped him from snarking any more.

"That is also when we reinforced the locks," the woman continued, her face showing some incredulity as she told him, "there were five different charms on that door this morning."

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you what happened," Harry replied to the disbelief, "I just reached for the door and it opened."

Pomfrey nodded and patted his hand. "Well, maybe I can find the answer to that mystery when talking to Mr Malfoy. For now, you should eat. You missed breakfast and given that you haven't eaten since yesterday morning, I suggest a large lunch."

Harry nodded, and chose to place himself into his healer's care again; his stomach was rumbling loudly, and it would put off the inevitable start he was going to have to make on his report.

* * *

Harry put down his quill and took another deep breath; he'd been trying to write this damn report for what seemed like hours, and he was alternating between acute embarrassment and wondering if a cold shower would cool the effect the recollections were having on his body. He was trying to be clinical, to assess the memories for information that his superior would consider relevant, but his mind kept wandering off the words on the page into memory or considerations of how the contents would be received. This time it was memories which had brought a flush to his cheeks and a throb to his groin, and he had backed off from the thoughts of the shape-changer Draco had become before the effects grew any stronger.

The young man grabbed for the current of many iced glasses of water Poppy had discretely been providing for him after noticing his discomfort during a brief visit to collect his abandoned lunch tray; it wasn't total immersion, but it did refresh, and Harry splashed a few fingers of chilly droplets into his face. However, some of the rain fell on his parchment, and with a growl, the Auror grabbed for his blotter as some of his words began to smudge.

Harry lifted the blotter and growled again. He glared down at a mess that he'd created, five hard-written lines were now running in to each other. His temper snapped, and the young man grabbed at the damaged page. Total hatred of what the parchment meant came out in an almighty yell, and with very little coordination or control, Harry ripped at the paper. The sound was very satisfying, and he carried on tearing until there were little bits all over the table. Breathing hard, the wizard stared at his handiwork, and slowly it dawned on him what he'd done. He felt like banging his head against the wall, but instead, he laughed. There wasn't anything funny about having destroyed the best part of an hour's work (he'd nearly finished that page), but it was that or burst into tears.

Tired, frustrated, and feeling the burden of his position, Harry stood up and walked away from the desk before he did even more damage. He pulled off his glasses and threw himself face down on the bed and pulled the pillow over his head. Like that, Harry would have sulked for as long as his conscience allowed, which at the moment was quite a while, but a knock on the door disturbed his grump a few minutes in. The sound was a long way away, through two layers of feather pillows by this time, and the young man took a few seconds to respond; thus, when he extricated his head from his own little world, his visitor had entered. Minerva regarded her friend from the door, concern and surprise on her face.

"Harry are you ill, do you require a headache powder?" the woman asked.

"No, just an off-switch for my hormones," he complained and then realised what he had said; he felt his face colour, it was becoming a very familiar feeling, and he dropped his gaze.

However, it appeared that Minerva McGonagall was having none of it, because she addressed the subject directly with, "Harry, My Dear, you never were one to beat around the bush, but I believe that I would class that admission as, now how does Hermione say it, T.M.I.?"

Harry shoved on his glasses and his companion came into focus, her face echoing the dry humour which her voice was expressing. He regarded her sheepishly for a moment, and then moaned, "I hate this report."

"As I recall, you always did object to essays," the woman observed lightly, coming further in to the room; however she straightened as she realised her humour was failing to lift her friend's spirit. "Would you like to talk about it?" she asked more protectively.

Harry nodded, although he really didn't know what he was going to say. He pulled his legs up under himself on the mattress and waited as Minerva sat down in the bedside seat. She looked enquiringly across at him, waiting for whatever he was about to say, but the young man was struggling to express the frustration he was feeling. His succinct opinion on the report was the only idea that made any sense, and, uncomfortably, he just let his confusion show. McGonagall could be wonderful sometimes, in a private moment between mentor and mentee, she had once attributed her insights to having spent many years tutoring adolescent boys, the girls she said were much more talkative, and the professor read her comrade's disquiet with ease.

"I know this is difficult, Harry," she began calmly, "but Amelia did not order this report out of a fit of temper, although it may have seemed that way to you at the time," she frowned as her tone said that her opinion of her colleague's behaviour was not favourable, but the expression cleared and she continued earnestly, "There are very good reasons why we need to know the extent and form of Draco's magic. For his benefit as well as our own."

Harry sighed; he had expected no less than the proper advice from his friend, but right then he just wanted someone to be sympathetic. However, Minerva had a different agenda, and it became clear as she pressed on, "If we can understand Draco's magic, we may be able to predict and prevent any potential problems. We can also ascertain if there are any existing enchantments which he is casting, consciously or unconsciously. For example, this magical sensitivity that you are exhibiting."

"It isn't a charm," Harry objected immediately. "Draco hadn't even finished expelling the magic, let alone been able to use any of it when it started. That much _is_ in the report."

"I think my point is made."

"Alright," the wizard grumbled, not at all happy at having the necessity of what he was doing brought home, "you win."

"I'm not trying to win anything, Harry," Minerva returned, her features troubled, as they had been that morning. "My first concern in all of this is you."

The young man was a little caught out by the sincerity of his companion: he'd been feeling so defensive, that the idea that anyone's motives were more complicated than mere disapproval came as a surprise. The sometimes severe face of Minerva McGonagall broke into a sad smile as she registered Harry's reaction.

"My Dear, Dear Boy," she breathed, her hands going to her face in emotion, "you have been through so much, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are not hurt again."

"Even protect me from myself?" Harry asked, grateful, but at the same time wary of sentiment.

"You are a man, Harry, able to make your own decisions, and I will respect them, but do not try and stop me worrying about you. Trauma can do strange things to emotional attachments, are you sure you are not misinterpreting your feelings?"

The woman's honest anxiety stopped her companion from scoffing at the suggestion. Instead, he felt the need to explain.

"I've never been more sure about anything in my life, Min," he confided with a slow smile. "I wasn't even looking for a friend in Draco, and I know things happened really fast, but this isn't some post-traumatic obsession. I love Draco."

Minerva sat back in her chair, her jaw slightly slack, and her gaze uncertain. Harry let his disclosure sink in and was glad when he received no objection. He carried on, feeling his own pulse quicken as he submitted his emotions to his confidante, "It was Tonks who pointed it out, I hadn't given what I felt a name up till then, but she was right."

His companion was watching him very carefully, and considering what he said with her usual attention to detail. The young man didn't try to hide anything, he let her see the mixture of joy and doubt and hope and fear that bubbled up inside every time he thought about his lover. Harry wasn't surprised when the wariness in Minerva picked up on the more negative emotions. She wasn't quite frowning, but it was close as she asked, "Are you positive this is what you want?"

He nodded.

"And Draco, I assume Nyphadora supplied you with this epiphany after the last time you saw him, so do you know how he feels?"

Harry shook his head, feeling very young as he listened to the wisdom of his elder.

"Draco, if the reports are to be believed, and he has not denied these particular ones, is a rather wild young man. He may not have the same expectations for this relationship as you."

"I have to take the risk," Harry returned definitely.

His mentor pursed her lips and warned, "Don't you think you have taken enough risks for Mr Malfoy in the last two days?"

"But in a similar position, wouldn't you?" the young man was not going to be beaten by prudence.

Minerva crossed her hands in her lap and regarded Harry over the top of her glasses for another long moment. The wizard held his breath; no matter how defiant he had felt earlier, he badly wanted his old friend's approval. The severe line of her lips slowly curled, and she rewarded his patience with, "Well, I suppose I would."

Harry let the stale air out of his lungs in a rush and confided, "After this morning, I didn't know what to think."

"This morning was handled badly on all sides," his comrade observed evenly. "I have already spoken to Albus and I shall be having words with Amelia and especially Severus about their shocking behaviour. I believe enough was said this morning to negate my need for speaking with you about your conduct, Harry."

"You think I disgraced myself as well?!" the young man growled, suddenly angry again, and not wanting to avoid the issue.

His friend stiffened, but she was not about to back down from the challenge; her eyes flashed and she retorted, "I was very disappointed in you behaviour, Harry. You have done a spectacular job of pushing boundaries, and in worrying a great many people who care about you. Albus was beside himself when he believed he had allowed you to walk into an attack. I don't doubt that you could not have predicted the exact nature of the assimilations, but some good sense in place of rampant libido may have saved us all a sleepless night!"

Harry stared at his ex-house mistress, somewhat in awe of the dressing-down he had just been given. He could see the repressed tension which brought dampness to the woman's eyes, and the guilt grew as it dawned on him how much emotion had been invested in to his well-being.

"I'm sorry, Min," he rushed, desperate to prevent any tears from flowing, "We never meant any of it to leave that room. I was mortified when I woke up in my own bed."

"And so you should have been," Minerva snapped, but it was only a way of stalling the pent up feelings.

The tension was too much, and Harry laughed; it wasn't that he found anything funny, but as he had done after ripping the paper, he took the safest route he could to express his mixed-up emotions. His companion regarded him as if he had grown an extra head at first, but slowly she relaxed and finished in a not-so-reproving stare.

"I knew my life would never be boring again the moment I laid eyes on that shorter-than-average, bespectacled boy at Hogwarts," she chided amiably, "difficult, heart-breaking, maddening, but never boring."

The ex-pupil shrugged, and offered with the smile that his chuckle became, "Sometimes I think I could get to like boring."

"Absolute tosh!" Minerva waved her hand at him with the light dismissal, "You are too much a Gryffindor to run with the humdrum. I think you shall be breaking the mould your entire life."

Harry thought about that for a moment, and part of him mourned the fact that he never could quite fit in, but the rest of him knew that his companion was correct, that he would never be happy being an average wizard. Draco was just another part of his lack of the ordinary, and he was definitely an upside. He was still musing some interesting thoughts about his lover when his friend decided it was time to leave.

"Well," the witch interrupted his thoughts loudly, a look on her face saying that she had guessed to where they had been drifting, "I should be going, you have your report to finish, and I must find Amelia and Severus."

Looking at the forthright woman, Harry let himself feel a little gratification for the prospect of a dressing down for his two morning opponents. He didn't really want to get on with his own task, but the break had returned some resolve to him, so he stood and politely guided his companion to the door.

"Thank you for the visit," he told her warmly, "I needed to talk."

"My pleasure, Harry," Minerva patted his arm fondly, and then fixed him once more with, "No slacking now, I don't want to express my disapproval with Amelia and then have you let me down."

"I promise I'll write all night if I have to," the young man agreed, his comrade's spirit bucking up his own.

They shared another smile, and then the old witch departed.

* * *

The final mark Harry made on the pile of parchment was his signature; then, with relief and satisfaction, he threw the quill at the bin. No more writing, no more fighting for words, no more ice-cubes down the back, it was finished. The young man didn't even give it a second glance as he stood up and walked resolutely away from the desk. It was late, supper had been hours ago, the lights outside were dim and Harry could barely move his shoulders. He stretched with a long groan as his muscles complained mercilessly, and the tired Auror cast a fond glance towards his bed. He resisted the urge to just curl up on it and go to sleep right away, he wanted to be comfortable, so he grabbed his pyjamas and headed to the bathroom.

When he came out, Harry thought he had cleaned his teeth, he kind of remembered washing his face, and he had, more or less, buttoned up his night-clothing, but his one goal was the soft pillows and comfortable mattress which beckoned. The young man's eyes were closed before his head hit the pillow, and his exhaustion took him straight into oblivion.


	31. Roles and Responsibilities

It wasn't morning, it couldn't be already, he was achy and drowsy and Harry resisted the outside influence that was trying to pull him from sleep. Yet the shaking of his shoulder was insistent, and with a moan of complaint, the sleeper was dragged out of slumber.

"-arry, come on lad," Moody's gruff tones greeted the waking wizard.

"What is it?" Harry returned blearily, squinting up at the silhouette of his colleague.

"Get your dressing gown, that friend of yours needs some damage control," the Auror returned, shoving something into Harry's palm before turning back to the door.

It took the young man a moment to recognise his wand, but then the urgency in his comrade reached him, and he scrabbled out of bed. Harry grabbed his glasses, his robe and slippers and pulled them on as he trotted after the disappearing back. He held on to any questions he had as they crossed the end of the sleeping medibay, but as they entered Draco's corridor, he asked anxiously, "What's the problem, Moody."

"His Nibs is popping wards like they're going out of fashion," the older man answered, his urgency turning to frustration as they neared their goal. "He's asleep, Poppy prescribed DSP because Malfoy was having trouble with random magic waking him up, but it's having side effects."

Neville was hovering a few metres away from the door to the room, looking frayed at the edges. Moody strode up to him and told him, "You're the healer, you explain it."

The younger man looked unsure of himself for a moment, but then met the concern in his friend with, "Draco's subconscious is being repressed by the DSP. In a normal wizard, that just means he doesn't dream, but it appears, as far as I can tell, that Draco's subconscious is what is controlling his magic. And without it, random things are happening."

"We can't wake him up," Moody cut in impatiently, his magic eye spinning wildly with his agitation, "and Dumbledore's brief was that if we had anything we couldn't handle, that you're the next port of call. So he's all yours, Lad, at least for the next six hours till he comes out of it."

As if to back up the statement, there was a loud crack and a puff of yellow smoke as another ward blew. The feeling that ran through Harry was not as distinctive as the sexual call he had experienced that morning, but his instincts caught on to it as coming from Draco. He raised his wand as his gut told him the ward breaking was just the start, and he'd cast before he'd really thought about it; as the shape of a Dementer appeared in front of the wall where the ward had snapped, it was hit by 'Ridikulus', and the boggart that had formed into Harry's worst fear was defeated by a giggle from Neville.

Harry waved his wand again, but he didn't use a charm this time, instead, he pushed out his instincts and the ludicrous creature faded. It was only once this had finished that Harry's brain caught up with what he had done, and he stared from the end of his wand to where the boggart had been and back again, trying to fathom what magic he had actually performed. He felt vaguely out of control, worried by the way in which he had merely acted, unsure how he had got it right. However, his companions showed no such trepidation about his new-found talent; Neville was in silent awe, and Moody crossed his arms and regarded his comrade with a satisfied grin.

"Well, looks like Dumbledore was right," the Auror nodded firmly, "You're certainly faster than the rest of us. Should have called you in an hour ago. Took Neville and me five minutes of chasing to corner a Shadowmaker that came out of the wall, and then the blasted thing just disappeared on us. Pity the damned midnight webbing it left round the place didn't go with it, took us half an hour to clear up. That stuff sticks to everything, couldn't see the corridor for the gloom in places."

"But I'm not sure what I just did," Harry warned, uncertain whether it had been ability or plain luck which had helped him.

"Just as long as you keep doing it," Moody returned, clearly happy to be handing over responsibility for the nuisance. "I'll watch your back."

The blasé lack of concern from his comrade did not instil confidence in Harry, so he turned to Neville for support. Longbottom looked at him sympathetically; whether he was more perceptive than the old Auror, or just cared more, Harry couldn't tell.

"I'm sure you'll be fine, Harry," his old school friend encouraged, "that was brilliant work, much better than the two of us put together. I have to make my rounds now, but I'll bring you both back a cup of tea when I'm finished."

The young Auror watched the healer leave, pangs of panic mixing with an unsteady pride, as it dawned on him that he'd just been given a significant responsibility. Superiors' disapproval or no, he was back in the saddle, again, for at least six hours anyway. He battened down on the panic: he was an Auror, trained to handle any situation, but the trepidation would not go away completely. It felt like final combat exams all over again as with the responsibility came a sense that he had to prove himself. Part of Harry didn't want to have to re-establish his position in the eyes of his superiors, the defiant part told him that he had done nothing wrong, that the proving ground should not be necessary. However, the logical part of his brain told the young Auror that this was an opportunity to mend some bridges, and he wanted to do well. He straightened his shoulders, gripped his wand and prepared for a long night.

* * *

Harry had grown accustomed to the sound of his name dragging him from whatever slumber he could manage curled up against the base of a chilly concrete wall, and this time was no different. However, as he opened his eyes and instinctively put a hand to his neck to rub the stiffness there, something struck him as odd about the way he had been addressed and it made him slower to react as he tried to work it out. It took his waking brain a second to realise what it was, and then he began immediately to climb to his feet, a completely different alert going off in his psyche than the one which had seen him dispatching the weird and wonderful magic from Draco's suppressed subconscious all night. It hadn't been Moody who had spoken to him, it had been Amelia Bones, and Harry reacted with a combination of respect for a superior and memory of his treatment the day before. He wasn't going to be caught slacking, he would give the woman no excuse to find fault. Yet his defensive reactions were unnecessary, because the formidable woman showed that she had calmed down since their previous encounter, as she spoke to him briskly, but cordially, "Do not trouble yourself, Harry, I have been informed of the arduous night you have spent."

"Ma'am," the wizard greeted, all the same, not quite trusting the less formal approach now he had seen the harsher side of his leader.

The woman regarded him for a moment, having difficulty with something, but then she turned to Moody, who was leaning against the wall, on watch, "Auror Moody, Madame Pomfrey has informed me that Mr Malfoy should be coming out from under the DSP very soon now, can you handle the situation for the last few minutes?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he nodded.

"Good, now, Harry, I apologise for the early hour of my visit, but I have a busy schedule today and wished to speak with you first. Would you mind if we went back to your room to speak privately?"

Harry resisted the urge to smile as he saw Minerva's hand in the visit, but his confidence took a boost. He wouldn't have seen the slight stiffness in Amelia's manner if he had not been forewarned by his mentor of her intentions. However, instead of revealing his hand, the young man merely shook his head and replied politely, "Not at all, Amelia."

Bones turned and headed off smartly, Harry followed silently, wondering what form this conversation was going to take. He wasn't naive enough to expect Amelia Bones to apologise to a subordinate, but he was damned if he was going to show any contrition either. He was tired, ruffled round the edges, and in no mood for anything but straight-talking. He'd shown his worth, he'd spent six very long hours running on instinct, mostly successfully, and he was going to use his ace if he could. Harry began collecting his defences.

The young man had a few things he wanted to say to Amelia Bones, and they were all stacked up in his brain as he walked in to his room after her and closed the door. However, as he turned back to his guest, he was disarmed by the consternation in her face, and he allowed her to begin.

"Harry, as your superior, I must maintain my objection to your conduct in the matter of the rune removal," the woman opened, and Harry felt his brow crease. Yet before he could object, Amelia continued, "However, also as your superior, I must admit that before I demand professionalism of others, I should practice it myself. I apologise for the board of inquisition which I forced upon you yesterday. I reacted with my emotions, not with the correct procedure. Whatever disciplinary methods were necessary, I should not have put you in such a difficult position. It was unfair of me."

Harry stood stock still with his mouth open, not sure he had heard correctly. Madame Bones was ready for his reaction, because she smiled subjectively and told him, "Do not look so surprised, Auror Potter, I can admit when I am wrong. Can you?"

The young man snapped his jaw shut and let the defensive annoyance, which his superior's challenge found in him, run across his face. Yet he reigned it in; now was not the time for a tantrum, although his aching nerves felt like one. Harry could quite clearly see the olive branch, and he was expected to return it. He'd already apologised to three people without even trying, but Amelia Bones was different, she had manoeuvred him into this moment, and he didn't like it. Apologies should be sincere, and he knew this one would be fake, and he also knew he wasn't a good liar. The young man stalled the moment, he started to cross to the bureau and announced, "I have finished your report."

Hastily, he gathered up the parchment and held out the only convincing peace offering he had. Amelia looked disgruntled for a moment, but then nodded to herself, her thin-lipped stare softening.

"Thank you, Harry," she responded, taking the papers, and the young man was glad she seemed to understand. "I know how difficult this must have been to write. I promise you that the contents will remain confidential, for the eyes of only those who need to see it."

Harry dropped his gaze again, his face burning as he considered others reading it. Yet Amelia displayed a remarkable consideration for her junior as she diverted his thoughts with, "Was it the same sensitivity you mentioned yesterday which allowed you to counteract the unfortunate side-effects of the DSP?"

"Yes, M-Amelia," he returned, grasping on to the offered distraction, "I still don't really know how it works, but most of the time I could tell something about what was coming. It wasn't always that accurate," his mind went back to the moment when he had cast an incendiary charm rather than a quenching one when Draco's magic had produced a fire gelf and he smiled wryly. Thinking about the scorch mark the small, but effective explosion had left on the wall, he finished, "but Moody and I managed."

As he recalled the fireball coming out of the end of his wand, it occurred to Harry that he still had his weapon stowed safely up his sleeve, and that maybe he shouldn't have. It still didn't feel very nice giving it away, but in the atmosphere of appeasement, his better judgment told him it was prudent. He slipped the simple wooden shaft out of its hiding place, and held it out on the open palm of his hand.

"Moody forgot to take this back," he offered meekly.

"Actually," Amelia smiled more genuinely, "it is time that you kept your wand. You have proved that you are the most suitable person to watch over Mr Malfoy's magic, and you will be needing that if there is another emergency."

Harry's fingers closed around the wand faster than his brain really caught up with what had been said. He knew he was grinning as he slid it back up his sleeve. Amelia was full of surprises, and there was still another one to come as she continued, "And that brings me to my last point. I spoke with my people and The Order yesterday evening, and necessity as well as time has brought us to a decision. You have made your motives very clear over the last few days, and in some minds that has counted against you. However, your colleagues have made a good case in your favour, and practically-speaking we cannot expect you to act as an Auror and maintain your close confinement. So, although I am not placing you back into full active service, after your performance last night, you may consider yourself responsible for any magical incidents concerning Draco Malfoy, and as of today, you will join the other single men of this base in the barracks."

Harry wasn't sure how to react; his wand, responsibility and freedom all at once had blind-sided him. He did manage a, "Thank you, Ma'am," but nothing else focused except overwhelming joy. Amelia nodded smartly at him, clearly pleased with herself, and offered, "Well, now, I suggest you get some sleep and I will have one of your comrades show you around, shall we say, after lunch?"

Harry nodded and applied another thank you, but he wasn't really paying attention as his world and its possibilities grew that much bigger. He didn't notice Amelia had moved until she was stood by the door and announced, "Good day to you, Harry."

"Good day, Amelia."

The young man stood where he was and just let his brain work for a good while, but his gaze, which was wandering randomly around his field of vision eventually came to rest on the bed. The view of the soft mattress and welcoming pillows reminded him of how tired he was. It had been a hell of a night, and in conjunction with the report writing, the physical exertions of the last few days and the excitement in his spirit, the young man hit a wall. All his thoughts came to an exhausted, over-exerted halt. He just about managed to coordinate himself to get under the blankets, dressing gown and all, and then Harry Potter was asleep.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure what time he crawled out of bed, but it was his stomach which had woken him. He'd headed blindly to the shower and come out again feeling a bit more human. When he left the bathroom, he came to a smart halt and grinned widely, because, waiting for him on the end of the bed was a modest trunk. On the table was a large wedge of sandwich: his stomach rumbled, and Harry was torn between meeting the freedom urges which packing would assuage, and filling his belly. When his stomach cramped at the prospect of being ignored in the presence of good food, the young man decided to eat first, but in the end, he started piling items from his cabinet on the bed for packing with one had and passing sandwich to his mouth with the other. By the time he had finished eating, Harry was looking at a pile of clothes and items which surprised him; he hadn't thought he'd be any where near making an impression on the space in the trunk, but between the borrowed clothes, the gifts and practical items, he decided that he had made a respectable attempt.

Normally, Harry packed as though it was an afterthought, chaotically and usually meaning he'd have to apply a pressing spell on his robes afterwards. However, this was different, this was marking a transition in his life after the nightmare of Hogwarts, and he found himself taking more care. Before he began, Harry took Molly's jumper and pulled it on, he felt warm and comforted, any fears that mixed in with the excitement of being free were now wrapped in another's love. Then he packed his clothes; _his clothes_, that was a joke, but he was reverent with the loans. Then the practical items went in: toothbrush, razor and anything else that his wandless existence had left him with.

Finally Harry packed the gifts he had received on top of the rest. The trashy book could be read again in many a sleepless night, and was placed carefully between his slippers and his dressing gown. Ron's chess set made a terrible clattering noise as he lifted it into the trunk as all the pieces clamoured for a game; Harry made them a promise to give them some exercise soon to get them to shut up, but he was doubtful about his opponent, as his last treatment of his best friend came to mind. Harry paused as he opened out Ginny's picture, staring at the pencil lines with a mixture of sadness and pride for what it represented. This wasn't something for display, it was very personal, and tenderly, the packer slipped it into the protective pages of the paperback. The computer game Arthur had supplied sat on top of the chess box for further investigation at a later date. Finally, Harry grabbed all the varied sweets that were left and piled them in to the chocolate box: they would be a good way to introduce himself to his barrack mates, men they may have been, but they would react like schoolboys in the face of finest chocolate.

When the lid closed on the trunk, Harry sat down on the bed and took a deep breath. The moment gave his mind time to catch up with what he was actually doing. It was great to be getting out of his mainly one-room existence, but it was also daunting. It had been twelve days since he had woken safe among his friends, but this was the first day when he was really going to be part of them again. The three years distance between himself and his colleagues began to impose itself on his thoughts. The patient had not had to worry about fitting in, his visitors had made allowances for him, but now the returning prodigal had to find a place amongst them and also strangers.

Harry's fingers played at the collar around his neck, as he considered that and other things that would set him apart. Three years in exile, a torture chamber and the perennial fame of being Harry Potter were three large obstacles to being part of the crowd, and the young man was frowning heavily as the more pessimistic side of his nature came out in their consideration. It was like this that Poppy Pomfrey found him. Her knock barely lightened the crease of his brow, and the healer stopped in the doorway as she was greeted by the sombre expression.

"What is the matter, Harry?" she asked with a comforting smile.

The young man huffed, and shrugged, annoyed with himself at feeling so low at such a promising time.

"I don't know what's the matter with me," he complained, "I should be happy, no more locked doors, I have my wand back, but -."

"But you're worried about how you're going to cope," Poppy finished for him, and her lack of surprise was welcome; Harry nodded anxiously, and she came fully in to the room and sat herself beside him. "You are strong, Harry, you wouldn't have been able to come this far so quickly unless you were."

Harry didn't feel much like being strong, he was sick of strong, and his healer saw the sentiment in his eyes, because she added, "But you have friends for when you want to let go. I and Neville will be here if you need us, and I'm sure Albus and Minerva and Remus and everyone else I've been herding in and our of here would say the same thing."

"I've haven't shared a room since school, I don't know how people will react if I brainstorm or have a nightmare," the young man admitted as the assurance gave him somewhere to test his concerns. "Seamus and Dean thought I was weird enough then."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," his carer and friend responded firmly. "You probably will 'act weird' for a while, but everyone here has been through tough times, they will understand, and if they don't, a jinx be on them."

Harry smiled at the irreverent quip that was very uncharacteristic of Poppy's healer face. As she grinned back, he knew at the moment that he was speaking to a friend, not just the professional persona who could deal with the horrific injuries of war. All the problems that had begun to pile up behind the prospect of freedom began to reduce back down into perspective, and he let the opposing types of excitement mix to give him butterflies. He was ready for the outside world, whatever it brought, and he told his companion so with a warm, "Thank you, Poppy."

"What I'm here for," the woman returned with a satisfied smile as she assessed her success.

She then stood up just in time to welcome another visitor. Remus knocked, but didn't wait for a reply, since the door was only ajar anyway.

"Good afternoon, Poppy, Harry," he greeted.

"Afternoon," Harry returned and stood up as well.

"Hello, Remus," the healer nodded, and then turned to her soon-to-be ex-patient and began in a manner that was just a little too light, "Harry would you mind waiting for Remus a moment, I would like to speak with him on a private matter."

The young man had to smile again; he knew what the 'private matter' was by the protective look in his companion's eye, but he chose not to word his suspicion that the matter was him. He let the open secret go, and shook his head as he assured, "Not at all, Poppy."

Healer and patient didn't need to speak of their mutual understanding of the situation. Poppy just said thank you and was accompanied out of the room by Lupin, who, judging by his parting wink to Harry, also had the gist of the matter. Alone, the young wizard took a final look around the room. This place had been witness to some of the lowest points in his life in the form of his nightmares and Gerald Hippus' mistake. Yet it had also seen one of the best, his reunion with those he had thought dead. He had mixed feelings about leaving it behind, not merely concerned with what was ahead, but the associations he had made during the hard days he had spent within the four walls. The private, sometimes self-indulgent world of the patient was coming to an end, but the healing that had been started here had a long way to go. Silently, Harry thanked the plain chamber for its protection, but at the same let it go. Then he turned to practical things.

The young wizard drew his wand out his sleeve and cast a simple levitation at his trunk. It lifted a couple of inches off the bed under his direction and, satisfied with the experiment, he let it drop again. Then he wandered into the bathroom and checked he hadn't left anything behind. Then he had a quick look under low surfaces for hidden items. Then he tried the levitation again, a bit higher, a bit longer. Then he decided he was getting impatient and hoped that Poppy's lecture to Remus would not go on too much longer.

Harry wondered for a moment what they could possibly be discussing, but then some colourful ideas occurred to him which brought back the embarrassment of recent conversations and he decided he didn't want to think about that any more. Finally, the excited man strode over to the window and examined the screen outside for the last time. He followed precisely the lines of the flowers in its pattern, tracing their outline with his eyes, round and round, trying to distract himself from the spring which was beginning to wind inside. Harry rocked on his heels, feeling like he did before every Quidditch game; at times like these he just wanted to be out there, in the air, getting on with it. The young man was about to take action on his impulses when he was rescued from them by the return of his friends.

"All ready then, Harry?" Remus asked with a grin which said he had read the impatience in his younger companion.

"Lead the way," Harry waved enthusiastically towards the door.

However, then his eyes met those of Poppy Pomfrey, and his excitement muted. The woman was stood tall, her professional face on, but the eyes weren't quite right. They sparkled in the light, and revealed their dampness. Harry had known this woman well at school, but over the last twelve days he had made a different connection with her, which he suddenly felt full-force. Another impulse took over from that of escaping, and he followed it without reservation. Poppy gave a surprised little exclamation as she was wrapped in a powerful hug and Harry expressed all the gratitude and respect and admiration he felt for the strong woman who had brought him back from the wreck that Voldemort had created.

"Thank you for everything, Poppy," Harry breathed earnestly, "I wouldn't have got this far without you."

For once, Madame Pomfrey, healer, _psychic_ and giver of good advice, had no immediate response. It even took her a second or two to respond to the embrace, but when she did, it was with a firm hold. They held like that, in silence for a few moments, until Harry relaxed a little. Poppy followed his lead, and comfortably, they broke apart. The woman's hand slipped onto his shoulders as Harry stepped back, and he submitted willingly to one last examination. The healer's glance was cursory, restating her professionalism, and her patient smiled at the still damp gaze.

"Now, Mr Potter, I don't want to hear any unfavourable reports about you, and I certainly don't want to see you back here, I have enough patients. Eat well, no missing of meals. Make sure you carry some chocolate with you, it'll help you recover from any brainstorms. Take some light exercise, nothing too strenuous, build up gradually," she lectured smoothly, but then, despite her initial order, she added more emotionally, "And don't hesitate to come and see me, or Neville if you need anything -- anything, understand?"

Harry nodded sincerely, but then gave his friend another impetuous little hug. She laughed and dismissed lightly, "Out, out!"

The young man finally let go, and re-instigated the levitation spell on his trunk. With a wave of his wand, the bulky object followed him out of the room. Remus was grinning and shaking his head at Harry as he leant against the doorpost. The younger man sidled past and returned the smirk which said he'd managed to blind-side Poppy Pomfrey. However, he turned in the hallway, waiting for Lupin to join him and called finally, "Goodbye, Poppy."

"Out of my sight, Mr Potter, and behave, I have my spies who will let me know otherwise."

"Wizard's honour!" Harry called with a wave and then headed up the corridor, followed by his trunk and his healer's grumbling.

"You know she does have eyes everywhere, she's worse than the Order," Remus warned in an amused whisper as they turned the corner out of the medibay. "I was hexed a while ago, and she had me on this vile potion every hour on the hour. I was late by five minutes once (I was in conference) and she turned up in the meeting and dragged me out to make sure I took it."

Harry laughed, but he didn't doubt it was true.


	32. The First Fumbles of Freedom

Progress away from the medibay slowed somewhat as Harry's impatience was met; as they moved into space that he did not know, he started to look around and get a feel for the place. In his few sorties out of his room, he had never felt part of the hive, he had looked at it from the outside, from limbo. Now he tried to adjust to this new Hogwarts, this place of safety, and bearings were important. However, it didn't take more than a few corridors for Harry to wonder if they all looked the same, because he was lost. Remus smiled at the confused frown his companion was wearing and he brought them to a halt at a junction.

"Totally bemused?" the elder asked sympathetically.

Harry nodded and shrugged, "Haven't a clue where we are."

"Let me introduce you to the Map," Remus decided, and turned to the wall in front of which they had stopped. "Map!"

The wall lit up, followed shortly by, "Remus, Old Chap! Haven't spoken to you in ages. Old hand like you can't be needing directions, surely?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at his friend; he should have known better than to expect a tube-train style chart in a wizarding building.

"No, Map," Remus continued conversationally, "but I want to introduce you to someone. Map will ignore you unless you are introduced properly," the man explained to Harry.

"Of course, where would we be without etiquette?" the magical diagram agreed.

"Map, this is Harry Potter, Harry this is Map, source of most of the information you may need for getting about our happy home."

"All, all information, My Dear Fellow," the map corrected, and the look that Remus sent Harry told him to enquire further later. "Harry Potter, very nice to meet you."

"And you," Harry returned politely, knowing from experience of a semi-sentient doorbell which had bitten him rather badly when he failed to address it as 'Sir', that it was best to follow form.

"Welcome to Hogwarts Tutus, be careful about the 'Tutus' we wouldn't want to be compared with that _other_ sadly darkened establishment, now would we?"

"No," the young man returned flatly as that thought brought a frown to his face.

"Alright," Remus saw the change and stepped in quickly, "why don't you try asking for directions, Harry?"

"Yes, to where do you wish to go, Old Chap?" the Map pressed on amiably.

Harry let go of the odd feeling that the mere mention of Hogwarts had given him, he didn't like it. It had taken him by surprise, it wasn't as if he hadn't discussed Hogwarts at length, yet in such a trivial setting, something had felt not right about referring to it, and he had been reminded of his feelings after Gerald Hippus' false promise about Cruciatus. Harry pushed that consideration to the back of his mind, now wasn't the time for self-analysis.

"I'd like to go to the Single Men's Barracks, please, Old Man," he requested, grinning at Lupin as he aped the eccentric-sounding map.

Finally, what looked like a partial map of the complex appeared on the glowing wall, and Harry's mouth fell open as he was given a gauge of how big the place was. Even with just relevant pathways showing, the distance looked considerable. Eight red dots appeared on the map, and it announced officially, "There are currently eight such barracks within my realm, please select the appropriate destination."

Harry looked to his companion, and Remus informed their guide, "Barrack Gryffindor Two, please Map."

A big orange 'You Are Here' blob appeared, shortly followed by the growth of a blue line from the same spot.

"Take the first left," the Map began, and dutifully, it's blue line performed a ninety degree turn what was in fact, up the plot, "and then the second right..."

Harry followed the run of the line, interested merely for demonstration's sake, and taking no notice of the actual directions, since he was standing next to his own personal route master anyway. The route was quite complex, and alone, he could see himself having to ask the map again at several more junction points. The magical orienteer trotted off the turns quite quickly, and there was a squiggly line over half the map in under a minute.

"...and then you have arrived," the wall finished triumphantly.

"Thank you, Map," Harry returned, still on form.

"Good day to you Gentlemen," the wall finished, and then went dark.

The two men walked off, and as soon as they were what Harry considered far enough away, he asked, "So why, most information?"

"Some rooms are deliberately unplottable," Remus answered, and then added with a knowing smile, "and sometimes Map just gets it wrong. It sent one charm's class round in circles for half an hour because it forgot its left from its right at one junction."

"How often does it do that?" the younger man enquired carefully, seeing such wanderings in his future.

"Oh, not often," the werewolf replied innocently, but the way he was now grinning suggested otherwise.

"I think I had better learn my way around pretty fast," Harry decided firmly.

* * *

By the time they reached the barracks, Harry had been informed that the hub of all activity (due to the fact that it was the source of all food) and any good gossip (due to the subsequent traffic) was the Mess; where exactly it was he hadn't a clue, but he had made another mental note to find it when he had time. He'd also met several people who had energetically shaken his hand, said thank you for his sacrifice and welcomed him to the base; who they were was equally as mystifying as the location of the Mess, but Harry had accepted their gratitude with a quiet, slightly uncomfortable reservation he had cultured over the years of being infamous. Together with the fact that they had managed to walk through one of the school sections at class change-over, Harry was dazed and somewhat relieved when they finally arrived at their destination.

"Are you alright?" Remus asked as they reached a door, for once clearly marked Gryffindor II.

The young man smiled weakly and nodded, replying, "Just so many people after -," he waved his hand instead of expressing the prisoner's isolation in words and continued, "I haven't been round hordes like that since," he'd been going to say the last Quidditch season, but then the last time he had been surrounded by people came to mind, and he just repeated 'since' as he went cold with the memory of Lucius' banquet. It wasn't a complete brainstorm, but the trunk crashed down behind the young man's ankles as he lost contact with the present for a moment. Rapidly, Harry spun and stared dumbly at the loud impact. The sound reverberated in his ears, drowning the cruel laughter he had been remembering, and realising what had happened, he close his eyes, sighed and observed, "Well this is a good start."

Heads began popping out of doorways all the way up the corridor as the echo died. Some looked curious, others sleepily annoyed and there were mutters of 'what the hell?' and 'night shift'.

"Sorry," Harry told them sheepishly.

Some faces just disappeared again. Others showed recognition of the man stood in their hallway, and there were even some waves and calls of welcome. As the arrival of Harry Potter spread faster than the noise, even some of the sleepy heads who hadn't recognised their clumsy barrack mate returned to ogle. Remus looked at Harry, Harry looked at Remus, and hastily the blond man suggested, "Shall we go inside?"

Harry nodded, the trunk practically leapt back into the air under his rapid direction, and with a polite, but brisk wave to the growing fan club, the young man ducked into the privacy of the dorm. Thankfully, the room was empty, and Remus repeated, as he closed the door, "Are you really alright?"

"Nothing a chocolate frog wouldn't cure," Harry shrugged with a lopsided smile, determined not to let the bad excitement overtake the good.

He grinned gratefully at his companion as, very rapidly, one such sweet appeared under his nose. He took it with a quick thank you, and Remus responded honestly, "Poppy sent me off with a pocket-full. She said you'd be needing a few today."

The young wizard laughed lightly, but ripped open the packet thankfully. Only as his teeth sunk into the finest chocolate did he then look around. The barrack was long and thin. There were two rows of double-decker bunks, one along each long wall. However, in true Hogwarts style, they were not your average bunk beds, they were all four-posters, less bulky and not as high as those from school, being stacked, but each bed was surrounded by warm, Gryffindor-red drapes with golden pulls.

"Impressive," he observed through his mouthful of chocolate.

Remus smiled and led the way further in to the room.

"Your bunk is the one below mine," he explained, walking to a pair of beds about half way down the wall. "Afraid that means we share the space under your bed for trunks and things."

"As long as you don't have to tip me out of bed to get at your stuff, we'll be fine," Harry quipped, and then went for another bite of frog.

"Sit down, you're paler than a ghost," Lupin sounded very like Poppy as he drew back the curtains on the lower bunk.

The new arrival didn't object; he wasn't exactly tired, but all the input was taking time to go in and the pause was welcome. It was only as he finished the frog, he realised that he had been staring blankly at the floor for a good few seconds, and he blinked up at his friend. Remus had clearly been watching him, and Harry grimaced comically at him and assured lightly, "I know Poppy has probably threatened all manner of horrible things if you even let me stub my toe, but I really am alright, thanks."

Remus sat down next to his companion, a tight little sigh on his lips, and Harry had the feeling the werewolf had been contemplating something himself. It was the younger man's turn to ask, with a sinking feeling, "What is it?"

Harry had already had conversations with the women who had been present during the succubus debacle, and he had been pleasantly surprised that Lupin had not mentioned it once on the way to the barracks. Now, with some disappointment, he saw it coming at him in the awkward way in which his male friend looked across at him as well.

"I don't usually interfere in other people's relationships," Remus began quietly, and only his difficulty with what he was saying stopped Harry from quipping back his opinion that it was a good choice, "but you two have known each other for so long, I don't want to see this break you apart."

That surprised Harry, this didn't sound like a 'Draco is bad' lecture. In fact it didn't sound like it was about Draco at all. He just listened as his friend drew in another breath.

"By this, I mean you've changed Harry, you are much more confrontational than I've ever known you."

"I had a rude awakening that life's too short," Harry defended quickly.

"I don't mean it as a bad thing," Remus interrupted any ire in his comrade with a quirky smile; the young man shut his mouth, still not sure where this conversation was going. "It's about time you had some life of your own back. I've watched everything piling onto your shoulders over the last few years, Harry. The Ministry, the loss of Albus, Minerva and Ron (I am so glad you now know the truth), and Voldemort's ultimatum: to be honest, I'm relieved that you're finally making yourself heard. But some of us are having more difficulty dealing with your...forthrightness...than others."

The young man looked away, he knew what was coming.

"Ron has been at the sharp end of your temper more than most of us," the older wizard confirmed Harry's suspicion about his best friend, "and he's been steadfast in defending you to everyone. However, he's taking it hard, no matter what he says, and this latest news about you and Draco, well, you know how he feels about Malfoys."

"I can't change the way I feel either," Harry countered, but his guilt at the way he had treated the red head in the last few days muted his defence.

"Just try talking to him," Lupin advised.

Harry nodded, and half made eye contact again. Remus' gaze was supportive, but his piece had been said and he remained silent.

"I'll try and find him later," he promised, and the other man relaxed away from the discourse.

"Alright, now I have a couple of errands to run," Lupin finished, satisfied with the outcome and standing up again. "Can I leave you to unpack?"

The young man nodded again, and replied, "Thanks, Remus, I'll be fine."

Harry watched his companion leave, glad of the space after the personal conversation. Remus Lupin was a good friend, they'd worked closely during the early years of the war, but men were men, and touchy-feely emotional stuff had been left for very rare occasions. The younger man hadn't really needed telling that his best friend was handling the bolder, brasher Harry badly. He knew he'd been mean, selfish, unfair, cruel, aggressive, and he'd just expected his staunch ally to take it.

Everyone else, he'd been able to talk to, but Ron was more difficult. The inseparable duo had had their fights, before and after school, but it had taken only time and a few words to heal any rifts. If Remus had felt a need to speak up, it meant that Harry could not rely on the old inevitability of their friendship this time. Three years, the new edge in Harry, and Draco Malfoy stood between the old comrades, and things were going to have to adapt.

Harry began to mull over in his mind how to broach the changes with his friend, and a little absently because of it, began to unpack.

* * *

Harry had located his bedside cabinet (it was the one with 'HP' scrawled on it in chalk), and he'd installed his precious things in it. He'd also found the shower room at the far end of barrack, and an empty locker, also with 'HP' on it for all his practical stuff. It was as he was stowing his clothes trunk under his bed that his solitude was disturbed. The door swung in, and Harry would have had a very strong sense of deja-dorm-room, if it hadn't been for the fact that Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were dragging with them two people that the young man didn't immediately recognise.

"Harry!" Seamus greeted loudly, "heard old Pomfrey had finally let you out."

The tall Irishman tapped his nose and made sideways glances at his two comrades which Harry supposed was meant to tell him that they didn't know about the Resistance's insistence on his close-confinement; since Remus had already informed him of the fact that Poppy Pomfrey had agreed to use his health as the cover for his solitary, he interpreted the body language correctly.

"Harry Potter, meet Richard Llwellyn," Dean joined in more helpfully, and indicated to the first stranger; he was an older man of average height, his face was giving nothing away as the group crossed to Harry's bed, and he stuck out his hand and greeted in the heaviest Welsh accent Harry had ever heard, "Potter."

"Llwellyn," the younger wizard responded in kind, shaking the hand.

"Glad you could finally join us," the uninspiring man continued, and his brown eyes narrowed for a moment, which told Harry he was not referring to his recent incarceration.

Harry released the other's fingers quickly at the private rebuff, which no-one else seemed to notice, and turned to the second stranger. On closer inspection, the youth who also stuck out his hand, was familiar, and as Dean continued with, "This is -," Harry filled in his own answer with, "Craig Douglas, you tried out for the Quidditch team in my last year."

The young man seemed overjoyed that he had been remembered, his handshake excited and over-enthusiastic. Harry decided not to mention the rest of his recollection, that he wouldn't have let the kid near a broom, let alone a Bludger after a spectacular fall, which could have been fatal except for the fast reactions of Hermione, who had been waiting for Ron, in the casting of charm which turned the frost-hardened pitch into marsh for the next week.

"Sold the racing broom after that disaster," Craig informed him, apparently unabashed by his failure, and still attempting to tear Harry's arm off at the elbow. "Bought a chess set instead, found strategy was my thing, rather than execution."

Harry just nodded politely and extracted his hand.

"Look, we're on our way to the Mess for a break, want to join us?" Seamus stepped into the pause.

Llwellyn wasn't a pleasant prospect as a companion, but the other three seemed welcoming enough, so there wasn't much of a decision.

"Sounds great," Harry agreed, gladly dropping his Ron musings for the chance to be just one of the lads.

* * *

Maybe the Mess had not been such a good idea. The amount of activity had been daunting for Harry to start with: the mess was a big place, lots of functional tables and chairs, a counter at one end and house elves running around with happy little grins on their faces as they served and cleared up after the humans. However, it was more present company which bothered Harry. For him, a break with the lads in fact meant: being the butt of Seamus' jokes; taking the sharp end of Llwellyn's animosity to anyone who had even considered going into exile and listening to Craig complain about how no-one planned anything properly these days. Dean was the only one making an effort to smooth things over, fending off Seamus' wit, detracting from the barbed comments the Welshman was making, plain shutting Craig up and also trying to hold a pleasant conversation; Harry felt quite sorry for him. To top it all, the stares had started to make the hairs on the back of the newcomer's neck stand on end. No-one had come over and interrupted them, but whispers had started that Harry knew were about him, but he couldn't quite hear. He'd been through this lots of times before, and he was gritting his teeth and trying to ignore it, responding to Dean's trivia, but Llwellyn saw an opportunity to dig.

Harry's self-consciousness had taken his fingers back up to his collar, the one clearly visible difference between himself and his companions. Seamus had actually gone quiet, unable to handle the obvious discomfort in his old school friend. Craig was oblivious and had finally dropped his complaints for a discussion about chess tactics that Dean had valiantly started to try and bring the group together. Llwellyn, much to Harry's further discomposure was observing him and formulating something behind his eyes. Chess moves were very boring to everyone except Craig, who was waxing lyrical about some player no-one else had heard off, and so they were all listening when he made his opening gambit.

"Is that the latest fashion statement from the US, or do you just like standing out?" he asked, a smile on his lips that suggested friendly humour, but his eyes said otherwise.

The man received glares from his comrades, even Craig, who had caught up with the left turn in the conversation halfway through. Harry just stared at him, disbelieving of the insensitivity that had just been displayed. From the other's reactions, the word about Harry Potter's new adornment had clearly got round, and the man straightened as he realised his digs had over-stepped his colleagues' bounds of decency.

"It won't come off," Harry answered flatly, and decided it was time to go. He stood and looked to his three welcoming comrades, "I have to go, do you know where Ron is?"

Ron who, was fairly obvious, and it was Seamus who answered, "Said he was going back to his room after lunch, the married quarters, room 23."

"Thanks," Harry finished and then retreated rapidly.

As he headed to the door he heard Seamus hiss rather too loudly, "Were you born a git, Llwellyn, or did you grow into it."

There was also a scrape of wood on linoleum, but Harry did not look back or stick around to find out where the recriminations led.


	33. Making Enemies and Influencing People

He'd been too shocked by the Welshman's behaviour to be angry at first, but as he left the room, Harry felt it grow. He just about managed a please to the Map after a rebuke about manners, and therefore got his directions to Ron's room, but he was going to have to apologise later if he wanted any more directions, since he had omitted the thank you after receiving them. He was still fuming defensively over the antagonist's meanness when he reached the door marked '23' in the married quarters. The panel was slightly open, and he could hear movement inside, but Harry paused on the threshold, as his temper suddenly mutated into nerves. Everything he had thought of to say evaporated, and his heart entered his throat as he lifted his hand to knock. He felt like turning and running as his rap received a welcome call. Yet he stamped on the urge, and feeling foolish and unprepared, he pushed open the door.

Harry was not greeted by his friend's face, in fact he could barely see Ron at all; the youngest son of the Weasley clan was mainly obscured by the double bed which was sat in one corner of the homely little room. Only his backside and feet were visible as he scrabbled underneath for something.

"Won't be a minute," Ron told his unknown visitor easily, "I dropped my wand and it rolled all the way to the back."

"Hope you didn't break it, _again_," Harry ragged, leaning on the door post.

If Ron had broken his wand, it would be the fourth time. As well as the incident in the second year, his best friend had managed to snap his wand in the jubilation after finishing his final N.E.W.T., and also during a battle in the early days of the war.

There was a start from the part of body Harry could see, a loud thud, and a groan as Ron hit his head. Immediately, Harry dashed over to help his friend. He knelt and initially reached to help, but Ron started again when he touched his arm, so Harry drew back and just watched as Ron worked his way into the open. Ron glanced at Harry from under his arm as he appeared, and he smiled, but the disquiet that was mixed in with the expression made Harry squirm.

"Are you alright, Ron?" he tried to cover his discomfort at the reaction.

Harry kept his hands by his sides, and couldn't help feeling dirty when his best friend failed to make eye-contact, and looked like he was searching for something to say.

"Fine," Ron eventually replied, his tone far too bright and his grin too wide.

He rubbed his head in an equally overt gesture, and started climbing to his feet. Harry followed back to his full height, and found himself looking for another opening line. It felt strange not just launching into what he had to say, but the pretence in Ron made Harry self-conscious about the difficult subject he wanted to raise. He glanced around the room, trying to ignore the fact that his companion still hadn't looked at him directly.

"Nice place," he commented, setting his teeth on edge with his own false front, "and private too."

"Well, couples don't have to share," Ron answered with a nod, and then his eyes widened and he went as red as his hair.

Harry smiled and pretended not to notice the connection that Ron's thoughts had just made, but his heart sank with the thought that if the simple mention of couples sent Ron beetroot, then what he had to say might send him running for the hills. He turned and examined a picture that was hung on the wall. It was a framed picture draw by a very young artist, and Harry recognised the hand.

"Aithne," he commented, walking away from his awkward companion in favour of the connection he could make easily, "I have loads of her pictures on my wall back in the States, and Imogen's too."

"Can't stop them drawing," Ron took the olive branch, and, pride in his eyes, joined Harry in front of the drawing. "On paper, on the wall, on the table."

Harry laughed.

"Well, I won't complain. The pictures that Remus brought me gave me something from home. I missed Britain," Harry continued, and found himself becoming rapidly more serious again.

This time Ron did look in to his eyes, and for a moment, the old camaraderie appeared. It made Harry bolder, and he jumped in with both feet, "I never thought I'd be coming home like this."

That brought both men back to the present, and Harry bit his tongue when his friend dropped his gaze rapidly. Yet he couldn't hold it for long, not when another difficult silence fell and Ron failed to fill it.

"I'm sorry I've been a bastard to you," Harry barrelled on. "You've taken it all, the yelling, the snide remarks, even Draco..."

He wasn't given a chance to finish the apology, because Ron walked rapidly away at the mention of the Dark Prince, and that rejection killed Harry's courage. Draco wasn't something Ron had just 'taken', that much was obvious, and rolling him into the sorry had negated everything. Harry took a step towards his friend's back, planning to start again, but Ron took up the pause this time.

"Hermione will be glad you kept the pictures, she spent a lot of time picking which ones to send," Ron hooked back on to safe ground, and lowered Harry's spirits further.

"I'll have to thank her next time she's here," Harry answered, feeling very lame for accepting the diversion, but not knowing whether to risk pushing the apology.

Silence again; Harry stared at Ron's back, wondering anxiously what his expression was. His friend's shoulders were hunched, but was it in anger, or discomfort? It took a while for frustration to outweigh fear of failure this time, bit then Harry tried yet again, "Ron, I know this is difficult, so much has changed, but I'm trying to say I'm sorry."

Ron might have turned then, shown Harry some honesty, but the door was open, and the outside world interrupted the discourse. Tonks came charging through the door and told Ron, "Wotcher, we're late, again. Albus with have our guts for garters. Wotcher, Harry."

The acknowledgement and smile were all Harry was afforded, as the woman completely missed the fact that she had arrived at the wrong time. She beckoned to Ron and spun on her heel, adding, "Come on, we can make it if we run."

Ron glanced at him, and to his dismay, Harry saw relief in the look.

"Sorry, Mate, have to go. Talk to you later?" Ron offered, but the later sounded more like never to Harry.

Defeated by circumstance, Harry just nodded meekly and headed out of the room.

* * *

After Ron had literally run away, Harry had bummed around the base, pretending to explore his new surroundings, but instead, dwelling on the bad incidents of the day. Richard Llwellyn was clearly someone to be avoided if he intended on keeping his temper, and depressively, Harry wondered if Ron Weasley was another such person. There was a hole where his ally should have been. They hadn't made it to talking about real things, and the young man could hardly believe how much hard work the trivial conversation had been. Yet he'd not been left to mope for too long, because Remus had come trotting round a corridor, looking a little hassled, about an hour after Harry had begun to wander. The man had calmed a little when he'd found his obvious quarry, and he'd suggested a guided tour. They'd then spent the rest of the afternoon proving that Lupin did not know the entirety of Hogwarts Tutus, getting lost, exploring quiet corridors and finding places that the werewolf had not been aware existed. Given the gap in ages between the old school and the new one, the pair came to the conclusion that both buildings had some things in common, such as mysterious rooms uncharted by man and beast.

After the tour had come dinner, and conversation that made sure Harry could not mope. Remus had not said too much in the public dinner hall, even though they had found a quietish corner, but it was clear that someone had informed him of Llwellyn's digs. However, Harry had preferred chat about Quidditch and anecdotes about Lupin's adventures to anything too serious. So it was that Harry didn't have to face his new antagonist's presence until he and Remus headed back to the barracks after dinner. It wasn't late, but after his difficult night, and over-exciting day, Harry was tired, so he was yawning as he headed through the door. The first thing to greet him was, "Well, well, has all this talk of war tired you out already, Potter?"

Richard was lounging on a top bunk close to the entrance, and he successfully brought the half-full room to stillness. Harry glared at him, he was exhausted and his temper was ready to snap, but Remus stepped in smoothly with, "Unlike you, Llwellyn, Harry was working last night. Aurors don't keep regular hours."

The remarks quite clearly stung, as the man flicked the magazine he had been reading and disappeared behind it. For what reason the mention of Aurors affected Richard, Harry didn't know, but he made a note of what hurt, having learnt his lessons of verbal defence when faced with Lucius Malfoy. Eyes around the rest of the room suggested that opinion was divided over the exchange they had witnessed. The newcomer glanced around at the faces, some of whom he knew, others whom he had never seen before; they were a varied bunch, age, race, size: clearly the only thing that linked them being their unmarried status.

Movement started up again as the incident passed, and Harry nodded to the faces he knew, and some he didn't, who bothered to be friendly, but mostly, he just headed for his bed. Everything else could wait, he needed a good night's sleep, and Harry drew back his bed curtains to grab his night clothes which he had left under his pillow. However, Llwellyn went from an annoyance to a personal enemy as the young wizard laid eyes on his bed. There, slung casually on the top-sheet, was an item which sent shockwaves through Harry. The young man went cold, and froze as he recognised a dog lead. All the degradation and pain and helplessness lanced through him, and his chest went tight as he lost himself to it for a moment. His surroundings disappeared, and he heard the chinking of the chain and smelt his own fear as he was dragged down the rough steps to another confrontation with horror.

Yet Remus was stood beside him, and his hand on Harry's shoulder broke the memory. He blinked and drew in a rapid breath. Defiance and outrage protectively replaced the prisoner's pain, and the Harry saw red. He grabbed the leash, and spun on his heel, drawing his wand as he did so. Remus fell away from his movements surprised by their ferocity, and his young charge went straight for the man he was certain was the source of the sick present.

"You think this is funny?!" Harry yelled, and threw the leather restraint at the wizard, who had clearly been peeking over the top of his paper at his joke by the way he was already scrabbling to sit up.

The strap burst into bright light, cutting the shocked man's magazine in two as it passed straight through it. Harry wasn't sure what spell he had cast, but the item exploded in his enemy's face as he destroyed it utterly. Llwellyn cried out, brushing madly at himself as the heat from the eradication touched him.

"It's not a joke, you bastard!" the righteous indignance screamed, raising his wand again: he would make this sick idiot understand.

Someone grabbed him from behind, and Harry complained, but his wand was ripped out of his hand, and a voice told him, "No."

Remus sounded extraordinarily calm for someone who had a friend around the chest and had thrown his wand halfway across the room, and his sanity reached the person below the defensive rage. Harry relaxed instantly, shaking as he realised what he had been about to do, but Lupin held on to him as he gasped in a shocked breath and glared at Llewellyn. His victim saw the break in Harry's righteous anger, and he attacked it with, "Bloody hell, you're mad, it was just a bit of fun."

"Fun?!" Harry yelled again, his ire not yet dissipated, partly glad he was being restrained, even as he resisted it. "You try being dragged everywhere by your neck and then call it fun!"

Richard had no answer to that, his stare was clearly winded as it bounced from Harry around the bodies who had closed around his bed. The shock in his opponent thwarted the madness in Harry, and Remus let him go as he went weak. His skin was bristling with emotion, and he shuddered away the horror from which fury could no longer protect him, and he glared at the man who had so thoughtlessly destroyed his composure.

"At best you're a thoughtless idiot, Llwellyn," Remus charged, his own anger coming out as he kept a supportive hand on Harry's shoulder, "at worst, well you work it out."

The Welshman's mouth opened and closed as he tried to defend himself, but nothing sensible came out. No-one else came to Llwellyn's rescue, although Harry could feel from their silence and sideways glances that they weren't exactly on his side either.

"Come on, Harry, let's give this git a wide berth for a while," the werewolf distracted his companion.

Harry glanced once back at his bed: he was so tired, but with a sigh he realised that he was not going to be able to sleep now anyway, and so he looked to his friend and nodded. Someone handed Remus Harry's wand as they left the room, and the older man presented the younger with it as they closed the door on what suddenly went from silence to bedlam. Harry shivered as he looked at the weapon he had been ready to use, but Lupin patted him warmly on the shoulder and assured, "You'd probably have given him warts for a week, but you wouldn't have hurt him."

The young man slid the shaft up his sleeve, but didn't reply.

* * *

Remus introduced his friend to Hogwarts, The Pub, which was in fact a smoky little room down a few long, dusty corridors away from the main life of the complex. It was run by a short man, who could probably have made a toad look beautiful by comparison, but his wide, black-toothed grin welcomed his customers and Harry gratefully sunk into the dinginess of a booth made out of old crates when his companion went to fetch drinks.

The conversation was stop start, Harry didn't really want to talk about the consuming rage which had led him, neither did he want to discuss the vulnerability Llewellyn had rekindled. In fact, the young man did not do much talking at all, he just listened as Remus prattled on about not very much. Not even Quidditch could drag Harry out of his silence, but Lupin kept talking, and Harry kept listening, trying to drag his mind away from the nightmares that sat at the back of his thoughts.

The young man was not a big drinker, and Harry was still nursing and nodding off into his first very fine single malt by the time Remus decided they should head back to bed. People were milling about when the pair came back in, but Llewellyn was under his blankets, and the others studiously ignored their volatile new barrack mate as he went about getting ready for sleep. Harry was rather glad of that and disappeared behind his curtains as quickly as he could. A mixture of whiskey and his exhausted brain gave him no time for musing, he was asleep almost as soon as he was horizontal.

* * *

The fire was all around, and he couldn't get away from it. Harry struggled with the leash, but it was fixed to the hoop on the floor, and his sweaty hands slipped over the leather and metal ineffectually. With a pained gasp as the flames licked at his left leg, the prisoner fell to his knees and pulled at the metal circlet which held him within the inferno. The panic began to rise, the fear that this was only going to get worse, and the useless whining of steel on steel added to the increasing tumult in his psyche. Harry put all his weight behind a pull, straining away from the ring, his fingers hooked rigidly around it, desperate to escape from the heat.

The taut digits lost their grip, and Harry went flying backwards. Yet the chain did its job, and his neck jarred as, at its length, the young man collapsed through the flames towards the floor. Harry's head hit the stone, and he hoped for oblivion to shield him from the burning touch. His head spun, a sharp hurt cut through his skull, but strangely, there was no heat. Dazed, Harry coughed and rolled onto his naked back, uncertain about his surroundings and how quickly they had changed. The stone was cold against his flesh, making him shiver as the dampness of his skin drew away any warmth in his body. His vision swam, and bright spots made useless what sight he had left. The prisoner did not need to see to recognise that he was no longer alone.

The laughter of Lucius Malfoy was unmistakable to his victim, and Harry let out a sob as he guessed what was to come.

"No," he moaned, exhausted and unable to face any more.

The fire had broken him before, its rage had defeated his defiance and he could stand no more.

His tormentor was not listening.

Harry shuddered as he heard the false fire curse, then he tensed as his torturer began at his feet. His pain came out in a gurgle of shock, and he drew his knees up, trying to escape that which could not be escaped. Inevitably, the searing touch followed his movement, and his whimper came louder, as it moved upwards. The young man twisted and struggled with the agony of his burning flesh, and unable to stop it, he let out a scream. The flames spread quickly then, up his legs and over his torso and the prisoner convulsed against it. He gagged on the smell of his singed body, his cry hiccupping around it, his senses on overload. He could not fight it, he was going to die and the young man wished for the end, for the blistering agony to stop.

The flames' touch grew tighter on his shoulders, and its victim shook with the pressure.

"Please no," he begged the mighty flames, coughing as their heat dried his throat.

Yet they persisted, and he shook more definitely.

"Harry," they taunted him, and he writhed away from them. "Harry!"

This time the sound came from somewhere else, breaking through the pain, and the sleeper moaned at it, as the flames lessened a little.

"Wake up, Harry!"

It was Remus, the young man recognised his friend and it dragged him out of the nightmare. Gasping and disoriented, Harry grabbed on to the arms that were shaking him awake, and stared up into a worried face.

"Fire, false fire," he managed, trying to answer the unspoken concern in his comrade, and also explaining the memory to himself, trying to separate it from the present.

Sounds of disbelief came at the stricken man, but they weren't from Remus, and alarmed, Harry glanced around. Curtains on both sides of his bed were drawn back, and at least a dozen faces held him as the centre of attention. The young man sank back into his pillows, suddenly feeling very small and ashamed as he realised that he had woken the entire room. Some looks were aghast at his admission, others curious, and some accusatory. The attention was unwelcome and uncomfortable, but Harry could not stop himself performing for the macabre interest, shaking and dragging in uneven breaths.

"Harry, are you alright?" Remus drew his gaze.

"I'm sorry," the awakener returned, closing his eyes and trying to settle his thoughts lest he embarrass himself some more.

"That's not what I asked, are you alright?"

Harry nodded, not really assessing himself, but wanting this to be over as quickly as possible.

"Is this going to happen a lot, some of us have to work tomorrow," a frustrated voice came over from the back of the pack and Harry opened his eyes again, guilty and defensive at the same time.

The young man sat up, very sure that it would, but not sure how to answer.

"You never have nightmares, McHeath?" Remus cut in protectively.

"No, but-,"

"But nothing."

"But couldn't we put some silencing charms on the curtains or something?" Seamus ignored the werewolf's warning.

"Absolutely not!" Lupin cut back, anger and disbelief in his voice. "I will not have Harry isolated like that."

The Irishman actually physically backed off, which satisfied Remus and mortified Harry. He began examining the covers with embarrassed enthusiasm, and hoped everyone would just go away. Disturbing his dorm mates at school had been bad enough, but upwards of thirty barrack mates, most of whom were complete strangers, was utter humiliation, and the young man had a morbid suspicion that this incident would not remain just within the group. Coupled with the left-over tremors of the nightmare, Harry was feeling quite sick, and he must have been looking green around the gills, because Dean remarked, "Harry, you need a bucket?"

Silently, his cheeks going red, Harry shook his head. This was getting steadily worse, and he could feel every eye on him. He hung on to his stomach, he was not going to shame himself further. However, his discomfort was not subtle, and Lupin came to his rescue again with, "Right, since we have people complaining they want some sleep, I suggest we get back to bed."

No-one moved.

"Go on!" the senior man ordered more definitely.

Harry kept watching his knees as bodies gradually began shifting away. There were only three people left either side of his bed by the time he risked looking up again. Seamus was hovering behind Dean, still wary of the protective Remus, on Harry's left, and Remus was sat on the edge of the bed to his right. All three looked concerned, but it was Dean who worded their thoughts with, "False fire, are you sure you're alright, Harry?"

"I will be," the young man returned more honestly for the people he knew.

"Sorry about the silencing charm thing," Seamus joined in guiltily, "wasn't thinking."

"Maybe it's not such a bad idea," Harry shrugged, but then saw Lupin's face and added, "Maybe not."

"You're not the first to wake us up with a nightmare, and you won't be the last," the werewolf assured him firmly. "We have all had bad nights since this war started."

The two younger men nodded to back up their comrade, and Harry decided not to push the matter any further. He kept silent about the fact that most people had one nightmare, but his came in dozens.

"Try and get some sleep," Remus advised, his look suggesting that he understood the worry that Harry couldn't keep off his face.

Harry nodded and lay back down as the curtains were closed around him.


	34. Welcome Reunion

Harry lay in the dark, listening to the sounds of sleep coming from around him. He was almost certain Remus was asleep, he could hear light snoring coming from above and the squeaking of bunks when men turned restlessly as they strove for slumber had stopped a while ago. Harry, however, was not even trying to nod off. He was exhausted, blinking away his tiredness, but he was 0 for 2 with his comrades, counting the Llewellyn incident and the nightmare, and he was loathed to give them a third mark against him. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, he needed sleep badly, but it involved leaving the bunkroom behind and with it any chance of disturbing his fellows again. As quietly as he could manage, Harry drew back his curtains and slid out of bed. His slippers and robe were not difficult to find, and, feeling like an out-of-bounds school boy again, the young man snuck out of the room.

Wandering around the base in his dressing gown would not have been Harry's first choice, but he had not wanted to risk fishing in his trunk for day clothes. He was gratified to notice that he was not the only one, at least in the barrack area, but those who were dressed as he was seemed to be sneaking around, and judging by the number of mixed couples he saw hastily parting as he padded silently down corridors, in many cases, he was interrupting private assignations. Once he realised this, Harry tried to avoid corridors containing more than one person, and hence, within a minute of two, he was hopelessly lost. He considered asking the Map for directions, but then remembered the grovelling he would have to do, and decided that the middle of the night was just not the time for such games. He therefore just kept following his nose.

Some corridors were lit, others were dark, and the wanderer plodded down another one which gave him a little light, if not a single feature to distinguish it from the one he had just left. His eyelids were drooping, and he'd come to the conclusion that he should just find a quiet storeroom and settle down for what was left of the night. However, before he could locate such a bolt-hole, his half-blind plodding ran in to something, or rather someone. There was a yelp and Harry stepped back rapidly, waking a little with the shock of colliding with a body. He glanced down and recognised a House Elf. It took him a few more seconds to realise this one was fully, if eccentrically clothed, and finally his sleepy senses recognised the wobbling form.

"Dobby!" Harry greeted, and grabbed for the short creature, who was waving a covered plate rather violently, a dazed look on his face.

"Harry Potter, I am sorry for the disturbance," the elf replied, grabbing his tray in both hands.

"My fault," Harry instantly took the blame, "I should have been looking where I was going."

"Dobby was in a hurry, Dobby should have been more careful too."

"Alright, we're both to blame," the man replied, just happy to see a friendly face. "Er, Dobby, I'm lost."

"Dobby will be pleased to help," the creature's ears perked up at the opportunity to aid the human. "Dobby must deliver this food to the infirmary, but if Harry Potter joins him, he will then take Harry Potter wherever he wishes to go."

"Thanks, Dobby," the young man grinned, and patted the elf on the shoulder; Dobby beamed at him, and they started off again back the way Harry had come.

"So what food are you delivering this late at night?" Harry made conversation as they went.

Dobby shot his companion a little frown and answered, "Dobby has been delivering food for the last two hours. Neville Longbottom is attempting to persuade Draco Malfoy to eat; he has not yet succeeded although Dobby is making the best food he knows how."

"Draco isn't eating?" Harry asked, alarmed at the news, and his diminutive friend looked crestfallen at his own failure as he shook his head.

"Why?!"

"Dobby does not know," the House Elf finished as they reached territory that Harry finally recognised; they were outside Poppy/Neville's office.

"Harry?" Neville saw the pair through his open door, and got up from behind his desk.

"Why isn't Draco eating?" Harry demanded protectively.

"Good evening to you too," Neville greeted, clearly not as perturbed by this fact as Harry. He took the plate from Dobby and said, "Thank you."

Dobby looked up to his companion, but Harry took little notice, all thought of sleep having left him with the news.

"I think he's staying," the healer observed lightly, and with a contented little bow, Dobby was gone.

Harry knew he was being irrational; by Neville's behaviour it was clear that the situation was not serious, but he was tired, and the only thing keeping him awake was his concern for Draco. Longbottom peeked under the plate cover as he turned and headed back into his office, and asked, "So are you going to tell me why you come wandering into my medibay with a House Elf in the middle of the night?"

"Couldn't sleep," Harry answered shortly, following his friend in to the room. "Draco?"

Neville sighed, and then smiled at Harry patiently.

"Don't look so worried. He's driving Poppy and I mad, she was muttering about him being a worse patient than a certain Potter we know when we did the handover this evening. However, it's not bad. Draco is perfectly healthy, but since he woke up this morning, he's done nothing but meditate, and drink water. He's obnoxious when he's disturbed, but that hasn't stopped me trying."

As Neville looked at him, Harry recognised the old Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry in his face and it made him see the humorous side of things. He smiled and apologised, "Sorry, I assumed the worst."

"It has been a rather extreme few days," his friend agreed, removing the food protector to reveal a very large doorstop of a sandwich, and looking it at it hungrily, asked, "Now, I've tried persuasion, I've tried blackmail, I've tried pleading, what do you suggest next?"

"Let me have a go," Harry came out with before his brain had caught up with his instincts, but as they did, he grinned at the idea.

Neville glanced up at him and frowned, knowing exactly what kind of motives had led Harry.

"I don't know," he began carefully, "the powers that be haven't sanctioned any direct contact between you and Draco."

"How can I be in charge of any magical incidents involving Draco if I don't have direct contact?" Harry countered, proud of his reasoning abilities, that was until Neville shot him down in flames with, "The same way you did the other night."

"Come on," Harry tried again, "you want Draco to eat, and if he's awake, I'd like to talk to him, we both get what we want."

"Why do you want to talk?" the healer in Neville came out at the admission Harry hadn't meant to make.

The man sighed and decided to be honest. "Bad night," he admitted, "I woke up the entire bunk room."

"Hence the wandering around with a House Elf in the middle of the night," the carer concluded and Harry nodded; his comrade's brow creased again, and Harry remained silent, knowing a verdict was not far away. Neville regarded him carefully for a while, and then decided, "Alright, I can use my discretion on this one. Get him to eat and you can talk as well."

The young man grinned at his companion and scooped up the plate.

* * *

Harry paused at Draco's window and just watched the still figure within for a moment. Draco could be truly beautiful, and with his features calm, and his body poised in the lotus position, he looked almost angelic. The thoughts this image sent Harry were anything but angelic, and he grinned to himself as he welcomed the chance to be near his partner again. The visitor didn't bother knocking, he just opened the door, leant round the doorframe and jibed, "Have you been being a bastard to Poppy and Neville?"

"Of course, I'm the Dark Prince, I'm meant to be a bastard," came the smooth reply, and nothing but Draco's lips moved as he remained in the meditation position.

Harry grinned to himself and strode into the room, the door closing behind him. He threw himself with careful, but deliberate heaviness down next to Draco on the bed, bouncing his doggedly poised companion and advised lightly, "Word to the wise, it's a good idea to have Poppy Pomfrey on side."

"Madame Pomfrey would not be on my side even if I declared myself celibate and wore a hair vest," Draco snapped back, with a little too much venom for the disaffected mask he was trying to wear. He shifted position and opened his eyes and his face showed discomfort and frustration.

"She'll come round," Harry assured, and smiled as he suggested, "But it might help if you apologised for being obnoxious and started doing as she and Neville ask, they are your healers after all."

"I don't need healing," Malfoy shot back petulantly.

"Oh, so all that falling over and going all wibbly was just you being a dizzy blond was it?" Harry raised an eyebrow, and nudged his lover playfully.

"I'm fine now," Draco returned, staring moodily into his hands, but his partner saw the twitch at the corners of his mouth he was trying to hide.

"Let them be the judge of that," he cajoled, and held out the plate with, "Now, eat."

Draco took the food with a haughty disdain, but Harry carried on grinning at him, it was good to be close to his lover again, and he wasn't going to let a tantrum spoil his mood.

"Give it up, Draco," he teased, leaning up next to the grumpy figure and pouting, "if you don't eat your main course, you won't get any desert."

"What if I don't want any desert?" his companion asked innocently, apparently ignoring his partner while prying open one part of the sandwich and examining the contents.

Harry ran a hand swiftly round his lover's waist and stroked his torso. Draco wriggled in appreciation, the sandwich and plate landed, more or less, on the end of the bed, and suddenly Harry found himself in a strong embrace. He pushed back instantly as a mouth found his, and sunk into the best moment he'd had all day. Despite the playful conversation, both partners made it swiftly obvious to each other that they needed the contact; Harry felt Draco's tense shoulders relax as his fingers brushed over them, and his own muscles let go of the fixed constriction that stress had created, moving more naturally and aching to let him know how tight they had been. He murmured his relief and was gratified as his lover repeated the stroking movement on his back. The man shivered and felt the same run through Draco. He broke the kiss and wrapped himself closer around his partner, resting his cheek against Draco's slender neck and enjoying the trembling sensation as it chased away the strain in both of them.

The couple remained entwined in the simple, relaxing embrace for a while, gradually letting go of the trials of the day. It was calming and comforting, and Harry let his mind drift in safety, no longer over-tired, no longer held down by the lows of his first day of freedom, and able to start looking at some of the highs. However, this was definitely the highest point, and he smiled to himself, glad he'd bumped into Dobby. The young man was so enwrapped in the security of his lover's touch, that he was reluctant to leave it, and it was therefore Draco who decided that they couldn't remain like that for ever. Slowly, gently, he released himself from Harry's hold, sitting back and when he was looking in to green eyes, he offered, "You first."

The sharp Malfoy features displayed their affection as Draco searched Harry's face for his emotions. Draco wanted to talk, Harry knew that from the way he was pushing him forward to reveal all first. From the long conversations at Hogwarts, Harry had learnt that Draco Malfoy found it difficult to express his own vulnerabilities without a lead from another. The years of Slytherin scheming had made him careful, protective of information which could be used against him, and Harry, open, trusting Gryffindor, did not mind having to make the first move. He held nothing back, and let the anxiety cross his features as he confessed, "Good day and bad day. I'm a free man, no more escorts and I have my wand back, and lots of people have been friendly, but there were a few hiccups along the way."

Draco smiled, the same mixture of feelings in his eyes, and he agreed, "Good day, bad day too." Then he fished, "So, hiccups?"

Harry made a face and began with a light sigh, "I woke the entire bunk room by having a nightmare. I left when everyone else had gone to sleep, because I didn't want to risk doing it again, since I've already convinced most of them I'm a crazed lunatic by nearly hexing a guy from here to Friday."

"Well, from most people I know, there wouldn't have been any 'nearly' about the hexing, and they wouldn't be so bothered, but with you, I'll ask, why?" Draco tried to lighten his companion's mood with the observation, but there was a mild tone of concern in his voice, and Harry didn't fail to notice that he avoided the nightmare part of the discussion.

"He left a dog lead on my bed," Harry returned, still feeling the vulnerability that his anger had tried to obscure as his fingers played at the collar.

"Then he deserved all he got," Draco's face clouded with alarming speed, and Harry was torn between an instant warmth he felt as his lover rose to his defence, and concern for the wild edge to the Malfoy temper which came to the surface; he settled for being glad he had such a defender, and deciding there and then it was probably best if Draco and Llwellyn never met.

Harry dropped his hand from his neck and placed it on his partner's arm. His confession wasn't finished, and he explained further, "I exploded the thing in his face and I would have done something nastier if Remus hadn't stopped me."

His lover settled from anger to concern as he registered Harry's anxiety about his actions, and he addressed it directly with, "You're worried about losing control?"

Harry nodded as Draco hit the nail on the head.

"I have my wand back, I'm armed, and I had no idea what I was going to do with it when I went for Llewellyn. I was so angry I was just going to hit out, I don't even know how I exploded the lead," all came out in a rush of worry that had been held back since the incident.

"If you don't know, then I'm not going to guess," Draco responded honestly. "We all do crazy things when we're angry, I'm an expert in that, I've been angry for five years."

Harry forgot his own doubts and squeezed his companion's arm as he saw the momentary pain cross the chiselled features. Draco smiled sadly at him and covered the gesture with his own fingers.

"You'll probably do it again," he warned, and held Harry's gaze with the depth in his eyes, "especially if this Llwellyn tries anything else. But don't take it too much to heart. You're no more dangerous than the next wizard. I watched you at school, tried to work you out, tried to find the cracks, but after the fifth year I never saw any. In public you were always so controlled, so stoic."

"I was afraid of making a mistake," Harry disclosed, sharing one of his deepest secrets with relief. "The last time I did, Sirius died."

Something clicked into place behind Draco's ice blue eyes, his eyebrows raised slightly and he opened his mouth to say something and reconsidered. Then he smiled. He slid his fingers between Harry's and offered, "I think you've been in control too long. Enjoy the anarchy, you've earned it."

Harry didn't really know what to say. He arched his own eyebrows and laughed as the idea of finding pleasure in the uncontrolled releases suddenly appealed.

"You have an odd perspective on life, Draco," he observed with a shake of the head.

His partner's smile crinkled into a quirky acceptance of the statement. He reached nonchalantly behind him and grabbed the plate, held half of the sandwich up in a flourish and returned, "Well, we can't all be boring." Then he stuffed the doorstop into his mouth and took a bite. Harry just watched, fascinated by the little changes in his lover's face. A frown creased Draco's brow for a second, but then a murmur of contentment came through his mouthful, and he added, "Thith ith goo."

[Too close for comfort,] Harry thought to himself as Draco diverted the subject, but he kept on smiling; they'd come back to serious things again soon, they'd had lots of conversations like this, and Harry was at ease with the pace.

He let the strange advice sink in as he watched his partner rediscover that he hadn't eaten at all that day. He wasn't really sure if he should take Draco's sometimes glib suggestions seriously. After so long second guessing everything he did, just letting go was not easy for Harry Potter, Hero, Auror, Figurehead. He'd spent most of the Summer after Sirius' death analysing what he considered he had done wrong, how he could have prevented the tragedy, and his conclusion had been that he should not make another mistake. Albus Dumbledore, his great mentor, had admitted to making mistakes, but Harry had been determined to show all that it was possible to be prepared for everything. Thus the boy who had returned to school in September had been a quiet, calculating, rational youth, and he had reigned in any impulses that might have led him or his friends into disaster. People had been surprised by the changes, Hermione had spent most of the sixth year trying to get him to open up about them, but Harry Potter had remained resolutely separate; no-one was ever going to have to pay for his mistakes again. The idea of letting that reasoning go felt very strange, but in some ways, right. He'd been tense and anally retentive for enough years.

Harry was still watching his lover, using his movements as something to entertain his eyes as his brain worked over the suggestion. Draco noticed the gaze. The blond man offered out the second piece of sandwich as a small amount of self-consciousness appeared in his face, but Harry shook his head with a smile, content to just watch. He didn't want to make his companion too ill at ease about eating alone, so Harry dropped his musings and started the conversation again with, "Maybe I have been a bit of a control freak."

Continuing to munch, Draco gave the young man a roll of his eyes which told him just how much he agreed with that statement.

"But," he decided, "if I'm going to let out my temper, I think I'd better find a safe environment."

"Hur," his companion offered, pointing at the floor and then hastily trying not to lose the contents out of the side of the sandwich.

"Thanks, but those wards have enough to cope with," Harry laughed; Draco made a face, but not a serious one, "and anyway, I was thinking something much more physical than just casting spells."

"Who said I wasn't?" Draco managed to clear his mouth to make the round-eyed suggestion.

The confider shook his head and grinned as he replied, "There are some impulses I wouldn't even take out on you, Draco."

"Spoilsport," came the succinct opinion before Draco started chomping again.

"I wonder if this place has a room of requirement?" he murmured, more to himself than Draco, but the question had a dramatic effect on his lover.

Draco lost his appetite in a second, dropping what was left of the sandwich-half back onto the plate beside its pair. He almost choked on the mouthful he hurriedly swallowed, and memory was heavy in his face as he told his friend, "They blockaded the one at Hogwarts. I used to duck into it to get away sometimes, just have somewhere really to myself without Crabbe loitering outside. I'd only risk an hour or so at a time, but still Lucius used to go mad, especially when I wouldn't tell him where I'd been. It didn't take them long to catch me though."

He looked at his now empty wrists.

"The room used to create a study for me, just a fireplace and some books, nothing fancy. They smashed everything, threw the books into the fire, and then they locked it down with spells. I didn't realise until now, but the room must have cut me off from Voldemort, blocked the runes' tracing power, that's why they were so angry about it."

Harry didn't offer any sympathy; the pair had discovered through their initial, halting conversations, that it was sufficient to just listen and let the memory go. Draco grabbed the bread again, one half of the sandwich in each hand and performed one of his protective switches as he held out the complete piece to his partner and urged, "You really should try this, it's good."

Harry went along with the move, took the offering, tore a piece off and placed the rest back down on the plate.

"Thank you," he said, "but Neville will kill me if I start eating large amounts of your food."

He stuffed the small piece in his mouth, and had to agree that what turned out to be roast beef and horseradish was indeed very appetising. His partner waved his now spare hand out towards the door, and Harry nearly bit his tongue as his instincts lurched in tandem. He glanced wildly at the public wall of the observation room, and was in time to see the window glass gain a metallic tinge.

"What did you do?" Harry asked ruefully, turning back to regard a grinning Draco.

"What Neville can't see, he can't complain about," came the unrepentant response. "I turned the glass into a two-way mirror, we can see out, but no-one can see in."

"Very clever," the dark wizard chastised. "So how long do you think it'll be before someone comes charging in? I've already been roasted about yesterday."

"I locked the door," Draco continued, and before Harry could object, waved his hand again and added as if it made everything alright, "I've left a note hanging on the handle for Neville."

"So he's supposed to believe you?"

"No! It's from you."

"What did you say?!" Harry demanded, but there was laughter in his voice at the audacity of his lover.

"That we're working on my control, and don't want to be disturbed," Draco shrugged.

"What kind of control?" Harry asked, innuendo heavy in his tone as he embraced the anti-control-freak vow he had just made, and began to enjoy the rebellion that Draco was leading.

The food suffered another fling off his partner's lap, and Harry found himself pushed down onto the bed. Draco stopped his torso from quite touching his lover's, teasing.

"Weren't you impressed with transfiguration _and_ manifestation performed flawlessly without a wand? I've been practising those all day," the Slytherin crowed.

Harry had to admit that he was impressed, but also hooked on to the fact that Draco had been planning again. He remembered the carefully stowed potion in the guest chamber, and realised that, at least the glass was part of one of the many scenarios for which his lover must have calculated. The young man had promised himself never to be surprised by that again, but it didn't stop the incredulity from bringing a grin to his face. Led by the memory of that carefully prepared night, Harry reached up under Draco's loose pyjama shirt and ran his nails over the taut flesh he found there.

"I'm impressed," he warmed, his smile broadening still more as his partner drew in an appreciative breath.

Draco smiled hungrily, shifted his weight onto one arm, and then reached for the belt of Harry's robe. Harry slid his fingers around the blond man's back, played over his waist band as, slowly, clearly drawing out his own anticipation, Draco pulled at the looped tie. Still the lover held his body away, only his legs touching Harry's, and Harry flexed against his thigh, anticipating and requesting a more intimate contact. He complained in the form of a low grumble as his plea went unanswered, and dipped his nails below Draco's trousers. The belt undid with a sharp tug as Draco responded with a surprised yelp to the action that Harry knew had left marks on his partner's hips. The reaction was perfect; Draco's poise slipped as he tried to maintain his balance and his lower body rubbed up against Harry's. Both men murmured as the soft materials between them teased some more. Draco followed the lead he had been given and pressed more definitely against his lover, and as his groin throbbed wonderfully in response, Harry flattened his palms further under the loose cloth, over his partner's buttocks and pulled him in. Draco's slender torso finally came to rest against Harry's, and they kissed again.

One kiss was all that they were allowed.

The rattle of the door handle was not quite as urgent as the day before, but it was swiftly followed by knuckles on wood. Draco's head came up in response, and Harry watched the annoyance cross his profile as he glared at the entrance. The look was very similar to that of the succubus possessed man, but his partner knew he could interrupt this one. He knew whose hand was pounding the door, and his sense of responsibility was not being seduced this time, so with a sigh, the young man moved to sit up. Draco capitulated, still clearly pissed off with Neville Longbottom's interruption as he climbed off his lover, but doing nothing about it.

"You had better undo the very impressive transfiguration," Harry cajoled, doing up his robe again and standing up, "and unlock the door."

Draco scowled at him for a moment, but then he turned off the tantrum before it really started, replacing it with a stare resigned to reality.

"Bloody Gryffindors," he complained, and then the world outside lost its metallic tinge through the window.

It took a moment for Neville's attempts to get in to return to the door handle, and then he came charging in, wand in hand. His face was red, and there was worry written all over his features, but he came to a smart halt and relaxed into a hand-on-hips glower as he was presented with two slightly ruffled men trying to look innocent.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?!" he demanded, more of Harry than Draco.

"Trying to get some privacy," came out of Malfoy in disdain before Harry could stop him; then Harry glared at Draco as well.

That was not the way to treat Neville Longbottom. His face set with the same stubborn professionalism as Harry had seen on Poppy's face many a time, and the young man saw himself being thrown out in the near future.

"Sorry, Nev," he jumped in quickly and decided to be honest with, "we got carried away."

The healer had his mouth open to chastise, but he shut it again, caught out by the blatant admission, and his cheeks tinged red.

"Sorry, Longbottom," Draco agreed meekly, which made Harry turn again and just stare, "I won't mess around with the window anymore."

"I'll believe that when I see it," the carer countered, but his attitude had already lost the sharpness with which he had entered the room, and although his tone said he was suspicious, Draco's humbleness seemed to be appreciated.

"I'm also sorry for being such a brat," Malfoy added. "It has been a trying few days, but that is no excuse for taking it out on you and Poppy."

Neville was clearly shocked by the new side to Draco Malfoy, and he had nothing to say as the blond man stood up and positioned himself by Harry's side.

"Harry's given me an ear bashing about it," he exaggerated, placing an arm around his partner's shoulders, "and I can do nothing but make abject apologies."

Harry stayed quiet, just watching the disbelief spread across his school-friend's face as Draco turned on the charm: he was fairly incredulous himself. He'd been on the receiving end of some of his lover's charisma during their contact at Hogwarts, but that had been more intimate, and Draco Malfoy, politician, was a new face.

"If you would prefer Harry to return to the barrack, I'm sure he will be able to manage some sleep tonight, and I will finish this fine sandwich and then try and sleep without doing anything nasty to the wards."

The trowel was laying it on a little thickly, but Harry saw it working on Neville. The stoic healer was a sucker for the none-too-subtle sob story, and the conflict between what he should do and what he wanted to do was obvious on his round face.

"You're still a tricky git, Malfoy," Neville revealed that he was aware he was being manipulated, but it was said more with exasperation than venom.

"I try to meet expectations," Draco sent him a winning smile. "By the way, Harry, I never thanked you for last night. It would have been a disaster if you hadn't been there, don't you think, Longbottom?"

The sentiment was genuine, Harry had no doubt about that, but where Draco was going with the conversation, he hadn't a clue. Neither, it appeared, did Neville, because there was a wary look on his features as he tried to work it out.

"Harry does seem to have a knack in stopping your magic."

"And don't you think that the barracks is an awful long way to come if I do start breaking wards in my sleep again tonight?" the manipulative man added.

Neville narrowed his eyes as he realised the trap into which he had walked, and he crossed his arms. Longbottom had never gone in for battling Slytherins on their own scheming turf at school, but here he was in charge, and Harry saw an idea dawn in his eyes, as he suggested triumphantly, "Well, Harry, your old room is still free if you don't wish to return to the barracks tonight."

Draco's hold on Harry's shoulders tightened predatorily, but as his partner glanced at his sharp profile, a smile remained in place.

"Didn't Harry spend most of the night in the corridor outside my room?" Draco persisted. "It would be far more comfortable for him if he could stay in my vicinity within the room, don't you think?"

The healer frowned.

"And I know just what kind of vicinity you're after," Neville threw back directly, his cheeks colouring still more as he met the issue head on.

"Please, Nev," Harry chose to be as up front about things as his old school-friend. "No outside influences this time."

"Do you realise what Madame Bones would do if she found out?" Neville threw back, but the knowledge of defeat was in his manner already.

"I'd probably be writing reports from here to Eternity," the Auror shot back, grinning as the scales tipped in his favour.

Neville sighed and regarded his two unruly companions for a moment.

"Alright, since you have managed to get Draco to eat, and he has improved your temperament (which I expect to last, Draco), and it might give me some peace tonight, I suppose you can stay, Mr Potter," the healer decided at last.

"Thank you, Longbottom," Draco sent him another winning smile, at which the healer looked disgruntled, but resigned.

"Thanks, Nev," Harry added, his disbelief that the plea had actually worked coming out in his voice.

"No more playing with the glass, though, it stays a window, but," he waved his wand at the pane and cast, "Manifesto!" A pair of dark blue curtains and runners appeared, drawn across the window. "You may have some privacy. The door I will lock from the outside, as it should be. Use the summoning bell if you want to get out, Harry."

The Auror nodded and repeated, "Thanks, Nev."

Neville didn't say anything else to him, but he fixed Draco with a warning stare and told him, "Finish that sandwich, Mr Malfoy."

"I promise," Draco returned.

"Good night," Neville finished, and then retreated swiftly.

"I don't believe it, we got round Longbottom," Draco erupted as soon as the door was closed behind the healer.

"Nev's a good guy," Harry told his partner and then followed an impulse which saw him push the blond man playfully back on to the bed; Draco landed with his torso across the mattress, and Harry straddled him with, "Now where were we?"

Draco's fingers found his belt again, and it was undone with much less tease than the first time. It was Harry's turn to capitulate as hands ran under his clothing, and he pressed against his lover as they rekindled the embrace which had been interrupted.


	35. Hard And Slow

Draco was leant against the edge of the bed, nibbling at the remainder of the sandwich. He'd been ready to banish it somewhere and forget about it, but a promise was a promise in Harry's world, and when the serious petting had reached a pause, he'd insisted that his lover keep his word before they pursued their passion any further. Harry was therefore being the sensible Auror, more or less, and, wrapped around his own knees at the end of the bed, he was watching over his charge as he did as he was told. However, Draco, disgruntled with the order, was taking his time with the task, and, half-dressed, and horny as hell, Harry's patience was running out, much to his partner's delight. Harry shifted as his body pulsed, and, although Draco did not turn to look at him, a curl touched the edge of his lips as he took another, agonisingly small bite.

"Bastard," Harry charged of his lover, and this time the blond man cast him a bright blue, gotcha gaze, coupled with a broad grin.

"Well, you made me," he teased.

Faced with a come hither dare in Draco's eyes, Harry couldn't sit still anymore, and his lover's manner was triumphant as he crawled up the bed and settled just behind him. He shrugged off his own, loose-hanging shirt and reached impulsively for Draco's collar. Draco took another nonchalant bite of the bread, but he leant back into his torso as one of the Harry's hands ran under cotton and down over smooth chest and the other came up under one of Draco's arms.

"Yes, I made you," Harry agreed, kissing his lover's ear and holding him close, "and I'm still making you."

"You're worse than Pomfrey," Draco complained, deliberately rubbing against Harry's electrified flesh and making him murmur, but then changed his mind with the response he received and observed, "Maybe not, you're easier to manipulate."

Harry didn't disagree, his lover was pushing all the right buttons, and he was ready to forget about the scraps that were left. However, Draco continued to tease, using his partner as a convenient leaning post as he tore at the crusts with his fingers and popped small pieces into his mouth. That didn't mean he wasn't enjoying the attention; Draco shifted to accommodate Harry's exploring fingers, laying half across his lover and vocalising his pleasure as nails made the faintest of marks on his pale skin. Harry spread his knees either side of Draco's hips, bringing him in even closer to his own body. The other man responded with a shift against groin, that made Harry gasp and dig his fingers into the body he was holding. Draco tensed, which only intensified the move he had made and Harry hung on as they both shivered with arousal.

Finally, Draco revealed he had had enough of the tease, and Harry drew in another sharp breath as his instincts joined his already heated body and the plate disappeared, and reappeared on the bedside table.

"That was interesting," he murmured, and began nibbling at his lover's ear as the sensations ran through his body, adding to his passion.

Draco didn't respond in words, he just let his ardour out in a moan and laid his head on Harry's shoulder. His palms came to rest over the stroking motions that were being made over his chest, and, with a thrill, Harry followed a small push on one hand to go lower. His erection throbbed as he slid his fingers under Draco's waistband, and into the unusually soft hair he found within. Draco shifted again and complained as Harry remained there for a moment, on the edge of his desire, savouring the anticipation and caressing lightly.

"You can be a bastard, t-," Draco began tightly, but then his voice went away in an out rush of breath as Harry quickly dropped his touch the rest of the way and ran his fingers around his lover's shaft.

Harry smiled to himself as he felt his partner's pleasure through his gasps and the way he pushed up against him without much control. He just held Draco, enjoying the sexual confidence of being the initiator as he allowed him to become accustomed to the touch and waited for his tremors to ease. Harry used a small kiss to his neck to warn Draco that he wanted to explore some more, and he took the wordless murmur he gained in response as more than enough permission. Gently, but definitely, he moved his fingers down, cupping and squeezing his lover's balls; Draco gave him all the access he wanted, again unable to stop sound from escaping his mouth, or the trembling in his body. Erotic power ran through Harry, stimulating his ardour, raising his heart beat, as slowly he then closed back around the erect organ, and drew his trace the length of it. Draco sighed.

Harry repeated the firm stroke, and to his delight, Draco lifted himself out of his sitting position into the movement, and his sound grew deeper. Harry had known the power of surrendering to his passions, he had always followed where his lover led, but now he was in charge, and the trust of his partner excited him. He was master of Draco's body as well as his own, and he revelled in the challenge of his companion's pleasure. Draco revealed that he was not quite the pure reactive that Harry had been last time they had enjoyed each other, he reached for his pyjama trousers and pushed them down, giving Harry sight as well as feel of the task literally in hand. And if the erection growing darker and harder in his palm was not enough for Harry, the way in which Draco rocked his hips left him in no doubt that he was doing the right thing.

There was one more aspect to master, and Harry addressed it as he whispered to his lover, "Make yourself slick for me, Draco."

Draco shifted; the upside down visage Harry could see tipped back on his shoulder had closed eyes and an open mouth, and a gasp followed the flip-flop of magic in Harry's stomach as he was obeyed. His fingers tightened a moment on suddenly slippery flesh, and the sound caught in Draco's throat. His lover shuddered, and Harry smiled to himself, satisfied by the responsiveness in Draco. He loosened his hold once more, and Draco relaxed back into his lean on the edge of the bed. Harry liked the feel of Draco up against him, so he slackened his touch completely, to a murmured complaint from his subject, but he persisted. He let the semi-erect cock rest on two fingers, and, only when the protest had died away did he lightly run them from base to just behind the head. Draco whined, his erection twitched and then, feeling a little ruthless after the tease his lover had been, Harry stroked his thumb over the head. Draco's fingers wrapped themselves in blanket, and he tensed, pushing back into Harry. Soft blond hair falling over his chest and shoulder and spine against his groin sent shivers of his own through Harry, and he whispered his pleasure into Draco's ear before kissing the lobe. Harry relented on Draco's dick, and his partner sighed again, nuzzling into the press of lips that Harry persisted.

Once he had a relaxed companion once more, Harry took hold of Draco's shaft more carefully, and began a slow, but firm massage up and down. The organ grew firmer with every stroke, and Harry stopped his kisses in favour of watching the passion growing darker and hornier under his direction. Draco didn't seem to care that the light titillation was gone from his neck, because he was too busy dealing with the pressure on his dick. Draco's arms were locked, holding his upper body still, but the support allowed his lower body to flex into the rubbing. Harry grew bolder and faster as Draco responded; growls and whines escaped Draco's mouth in equal measure as the amount of force clearly tested his limits. Harry demanded, Draco writhed, and the sight of his lover helpless in his grasp spoke to Harry's own desires. Draco's teasing had already aroused him, and his erection lagged only a little way behind his partner's.

When Draco's shifts pressed into the support of his spread knees more strongly, Harry gasped and squeezed a little too hard, which drew a further groan from Draco and yet more of a push against Harry's growing arousal. Harry dug his nails into Draco's chest, and kept him close, feeding on his shudders as he resumed the persistent stroking. Draco's pleasure came out in one long sound now, neither aggression, nor submission, but a mixture of both; the tip of his erection was weeping, and the hot organ was large in Harry's palm. Harry was excited, he could feel the orgasm approaching, and he wanted to see his lover come, hard and fast. It took only a few more draws and then, with a cry, Draco arched his back away from Harry's hold and thrust forward. Creamy white seed issued forth and Harry flared his nostrils as he caught the scent of unadulterated sex in the air.

His objective reached, Harry released cock and wrapped his arms around Draco. He held his lover to him as Draco panted away the exertions of his orgasm. Draco's brow was damp, glistening in the dim light of the night time room, and Harry wiped away a stray lock of hair from his pale skin, still enveloped in the power of control. Every shiver of his lover, every gasp heightened his arousal as he led the moment. Yet, Draco had never been backward in making his wishes known, and into the breathy haze of his climax, he whispered, "Take me."

At the offer, Harry pulled Draco in even closer, making sure his lover could feel the hard dick against his back. This would be a new experience, he had never topped Draco before, and the thought that he might want to had not occurred to him until the proposal had been made. He was nervous, but at the same time, his sense of power increased: Draco wanted him, and, in a heartbeat, he had decided that he liked the suggestion. The idea made even more blood rush to his engorged arousal. His own heartbeat sounded in his ears, and Harry let out a hiss of breath as Draco shifted deliberately against him. It felt good, but the move challenged the control he had been offered and he locked their bodies together in an iron grip. Draco took the hint and stilled: Harry kissed his neck once more in the sign of acknowledgement.

Gradually, Harry relaxed his hold once more, while continuing to nip and lick, nuzzling the loose shirt out of his way and off Draco's shoulder. Draco remained resting against him, and from the smile on his face, was enjoying the sensations. Once he was sure of his companion's pliability, Harry shifted his weight. A little reluctant to let go of the warmth of contact, he pushed Draco away from his body, urging him to stand up and then he unfolded his legs and shifted into the space where his companion had been leaning. Draco took the opportunity of being released to shrug his shirt the rest of the way off and step out of the pile of cloth his trousers had become at the ankles, but then he just stood still, facing away.

Harry paused and took in the sight of the naked back. The ease with which Draco held himself, proud and elegant, never ceased to amaze Harry, and he ran his eyes over the unblemished figure. Shoulders, straight, but not stiff, supporting the long neck that Harry so much enjoyed kissing. Draco was slender, but not skinny, not like Harry had been after prison food, and his buttocks were just rounded enough to be attractively smooth, but not too feminine. Harry dallied on the aristocratic behind, and his heart skipped a beat as he thought about what Draco had asked of him again. He wanted to take Draco, Merlin did he want to, his dick was aching with the thought of it, but his erection remained hidden behind pyjama cotton as a little anxiety went with the prospect. He knew the mechanics of the act, but for a moment he worried about performing. Draco was no pretty young groupie wanting to claim she'd done it with the Boy Who Lived, and the moment felt very different. Yet lust was a far greater force than any concern, and, with a deep breath of admiration, Harry stood up, dropped his trousers, and, stepping out of them as Draco had, reached out a hand to offered buttock.

Draco rocked into his touch, a minor tremor suggesting to Harry that he wasn't the only one slightly more than excited about the turn of tables. He wrapped his lover in a similar embrace to the one they had just left, rubbing himself close, this time skin to skin and kissing again. Draco resumed the head-back position of the supplicant, finishing his lean into the caress, but offering no direction, and Harry paused again, at least in mind, as he decided how to meet Draco's request. Harry stroked his partner's torso, working up his own passions, indulging the throb of heated cock at the anticipation and testing his own readiness. He was hard, and he was energized, but still Harry dallied in the closeness that he was used to, building the sense of power that he needed to make his move. Draco's patience ran out.

"Hard and slow," he told Harry, his tone thick with desire.

Harry tensed at the prompt, embarrassed that his caution had been noted, but Draco turned quickly in his hold and there was no such emotion in him. Draco's passion was written in his expression, and the way he reached out to entwine his fingers in his hair, the want in his lover was tangible to Harry. Draco ignored the set back, and kissed Harry heavily, before he drew rapidly back and expanded, his tone firmer, "I don't need preparation, just hard and slow."

That disclosure grabbed Harry's attention, and his groin throbbed remorselessly. He had been told all he needed to know, and he took back the reins with, "Bend over the bed."

Draco smiled at him, and his eyes flashed at the instruction. Leisurely, he stepped out of Harry's hold and walked the couple of paces back to the bed. Harry knew his tongue was hanging out as he watched his lover widen his stance to just greater than shoulder width, and then he licked his lips as he was presented with Malfoy butt. He was so intent on where his imagination wanted to take him with that offer, that Harry nearly lost his footing when magic turned his stomach and his whole body convulsed with his heated desire. Lubricant, body temperature, now coated his erection, and from the way Draco moved his hips, Harry guessed that there was slick arse waiting for him. In one stride, he reached his prize and once again paused.

Draco glanced over his shoulder at the stillness, but it was not fear that stopped Harry this time, just a dalliance of pure indulgent libido. He smiled back at his partner, and firmly ran his palms up over each buttock. That was enough to send the message to Draco that he was getting what he wanted, and, Harry watched with a widening grin as his lover turned away and wrapped his fingers in the bed clothes. Another almost imperceptible tremble ran from Draco up Harry's arms, and Harry met the excitement by spreading arse cheek and positioning himself. He couldn't help a small murmur as his sensitised head made contact with the firm ring of muscle at Draco's entrance, and Harry paused there, applying just a little pressure as his sound was echoed in Draco.

Hard and slow, he had been told, and after a moment to settle himself into the new sensation, Harry pushed forward. He gasped as he felt the tight muscle flex against him, so different from the feel of a woman, and he had to push more forcefully before it surrendered to him. The touch was exquisite. Harry maintained his initial pressure, sliding forward slowly, but deliberately, and he was gratified to hear Draco's low groan of pleasure at the breach. The experience in his partner and the lube allowed Harry's bold move to bury him deep, and more by luck than judgement, he caused Draco to jolt with desire as his penetration found prostate. The sudden flex that ran up his captured shaft made Harry moan, and he leant over his lover for support as the heat danced around his body. It took a moment for the glorious weakness to pass, and Harry panted into Draco's back.

Draco was also breathing hard, and he groaned afresh as Harry recovered himself and withdrew a little way. Testing his own control, he then returned to the right spot and enjoyed a second round of clenching. With the sounds and movements of pleasure from his lover, Harry's confidence grew, and he pulled back further again. Hard and slow, hard and slow, Harry took heed of the instruction and screwed Draco smoothly, but firmly, finding his way back to the prostate on each journey. His lover bucked at his return, tightening each time reactively, and the power he was wielding pumped Harry almost as much as the glorious tight arse around him. When Draco invited, "Harder," Harry had no qualms about increasing the force.

Fingers tightly wound in bed sheet, and panting, Draco was the most alluring thing Harry had every seen. He gripped his lover's waist and used the extra leverage to drive himself into the slick, close feeling that was drawing him ever closer to orgasm. With greater force came a little more pace, but Harry hung on to his reactions, savouring the long, measured thrusts. He was making his own exclamations, louder with each screw as the pressure in his dick became a continuous ache. One more contact with the right spot, one more convulsion from Draco and the ripples of sensation threw Harry over the edge. He yelled his claim to his beautiful man, thrust another time and came with the fury of a dragon.

Harry was seeing stars, but he did managed to retain his footing as he slowly came down from the incredible high. Draco was sprawled over the bed, no longer supporting any of his own weight, and he was breathing in long shuddering draws. The way that made him tighten on Harry's softening, and hyper-sensitized cock meant that Harry continued seeing stars and caused him to moan as he withdrew. Wobbly, in a very satisfied way, Harry reached for the mattress and perched back in the leaning place both he and Draco had occupied, mainly so that he could concentrate on the leftover sensations that were running around his body rather than on staying upright. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the echoes of his desire.

It could have been moments or minutes, Harry wasn't following time as he settled away from the orgasm, but suddenly, there were lips on his, and he was pushed down onto the mattress. Draco demanded the kiss rather than asked, using his teeth on Harry's lips when surprise prevented an immediate response. Yet after taking the lead, Harry was more than sated, and willing to give it up, especially when jumped by Draco's hot body. He opened his mouth and accepted the familiar probing of Draco's tongue and left the next few minutes of lust up to his boyfriend.


	36. Confessions and Conjunctions

The post sex haze held Harry in its warm cocoon for a long time, and he was content just to hold close to his lover, listening to his breathing as he too wandered in his own mind. Yet, neither man seemed ready to fall asleep. From his position spooned around his lover, Harry was watching the very cusp of his profile, and it told him that Draco was far from dropping off. They were both drowsy, but for himself, his mind would not stop working, and from little shifts that Draco was making in his arms, he could feel the same from his lover. Harry's mind ran over the conclusions he had come to about his feelings for this man, about the love that he hadn't the first idea how to express in words. Draco was not an easy person to assess, he had levels within levels, and his lover had to admit to himself that he was afraid of the blond man's rejection. So, instead of fighting for words, Harry kissed the pale shoulder closest to his face. Draco reacted to the new movement instantly with a light murmur of appreciation and Harry smiled to himself. Yet, he wasn't after more sex, so he continued the reengagement by stroking a finger over the area which he had just dampened with his lips, and began, "So, I've told you about my day, what made yours good and bad?"

Draco rolled half on to his side into his partner, and his face showed mild surprise at the question as he glanced across. However, his lips broke into a smile as he observed, "Way to change the subject."

Harry shrugged, ignoring the ghost that talking about reality brought to his companion's gaze. He had not asked the question lightly, something inside him needed to know what Draco was unwilling to share. He had confessed his own weaknesses, and he needed Draco's trust in return. He wasn't above some manipulation to get his answers, and he followed a mischievous instinct which saw his hand run rapidly down under the covers over Draco's hip and rest there, stroking. The blond man purred in response, his eyes closed and he relaxed against the other body. Harry pursued his open quarry again.

"Just a pause," he whispered, and let his breath run over Draco's ear as his fingers slid around his lover's thigh and brushed the more sensitive flesh inside.

The blond man shivered and let out a long breath as Harry caressed his leg.

"So?"

"Mmm," was the only response.

For a moment, Harry thought Draco was going to ignore him, but his disappointment was thwarted by the opening of his lover's eyes, and he returned directly, "Well, Pomfrey has been letting me know she disapproves of me all day. I'm a corruptor of the innocent."

Harry snorted, but confirmed, "Poppy said that?"

"Not in so many words," Draco responded, wrinkling his nose, "but if her body language was anything to go by, I should return to the pit of hell from which I came."

"She's not very difficult to pacify," Harry advised, kissing the front of his lover's shoulder this time.

"So you say!" Draco objected, shifting away from the caress huffily.

"A little courtesy." Harry drew his hand up his lover's thigh; Draco stopped moving. "Humility." He kissed again and slid his fingers down between his legs and then up over the sensitive area behind Draco's balls; the reaction was a deep groan and his partner shifted fully onto his back. "And obedience." He finished by dragging his nails delicately up over everything to which Draco gave him access.

The blond man drew in a fast breath, and his sound was strangled as he tried to object, "Can I help it if I've developed a problem with authority?"

"But this authority is here to help you," Harry replied boldly and leant over his lover to reach his lips.

Yet Harry knew he'd said something wrong as a hand stopped him. Draco was frowning as he looked down on him, and the doubt in his eyes said everything.

"They haven't decided that yet," he let slip the root of his disquiet, and looked away as he explained, "Dumbledore came to see me. He seemed happy that I'd made it through the rune removal, but he made it clear that they don't know what to do with me. I'm either Enemy No.1 or the best thing since self-watering flower pots."

Harry empathised with the loneliness in his companion, and he didn't hold back as he answered it with, "Until this morning, I was in limbo too, I still am really, because I told them that they'd have a problem with me if they had a problem with you."

"You said that for me?" Draco didn't seem able to believe the expression of loyalty, even as it made him smile again.

Harry stomach did a small somersault as a hand was lifted tenderly to his face, and he kissed the palm to steady himself before replying, "Repeatedly, and I mean it. We came out of that hellhole together, and if I have to spend the next six months in chains because they're faffing over you, I will."

"You really can be bloody selfless sometimes," his lover half chided, half praised.

"Nothing selfless about it," Harry countered, and before he confessed the 'I love you', bent down and finished the embrace he had started.

The kiss was long and thorough as he used the action to chase away the urge to reveal all. He wasn't ready to speak that part of his mind yet; it remained private, at the back of his thoughts like the nature of the prophecy, for another time, when it would come easily. However, Harry's enthusiasm for the escapism made breathing difficult, and Draco broke the caress to draw in much needed air.

"Are you taking revenge for yesterday?" he asked playfully.

"Just been taking notes," Harry teased back, propping himself up on his elbow and grinning impishly.

"Don't let Dragon Pomfrey hear you say that, she'll have a fit," Draco warned, but without the venom of earlier as his eyes and half his mind wandered after the patterns his long fingers began to draw over his lover's chest.

Harry drew in an appreciative breath, and let his lids droop as the pleasure ran through him, but something told him that there was more to the sudden return to the subject of the healer than mere coincidence, and so he asked, "Did you give her more reason to throw one, because she was okay with me once I'd apologised for smacking Neville."

"You hit Longbottom?" Draco began paying attention again, and Harry was a little disappointed as his interest slowed the blond man's amorous attentions.

"He was between me and you," the young man grimaced and Draco laughed. It did sound oddly funny, but Harry was not going to let his partner get away with diverting the subject, and he poked him in the ribs as he urged, "Enough about me, I asked about you."

"I didn't hit anyone," Draco countered, grabbing for the prodding finger and entwining it with his own. "I was just trying a manifestation this morning and Pomfrey nearly had apoplexy. She came charging in to my room, wand drawn and ordered me to dissipate it before I'd finished. She broke my concentration and the resultant disturbance knocked over the breakfast tray I hadn't started yet."

Harry resisted the urge to laugh at the images this conjured; Draco did not seem too bothered by the recollection, in fact there was an exasperated smile playing over his lips from time to time, but levity did not seem appropriate, so he settled for an eyebrow raise. His lover made a face and continued with a sigh, "I was annoyed and I yelled, and then she raised her voice in that condescendingly disapproving way she has." This time Harry did snigger as Draco rolled his eyes and put his free hand to his forehead and quoted in a high voice, "You are not to attempt anything so foolhardy as manifestation without supervision, Mr Malfoy, and Mr Potter is not to be distracted today, because he had a long night." Harry continued to laugh and it egged Draco on as he exploded with false irritation, "As if it was _my_ fault! I told her that you wouldn't have had a long night if she hadn't misprescribed DSP in the first place. That suggestion impugned her honour and it just got worse from there. She threatened to stupefy me if I tried manifestation again, and I told her she could try and then she did. I was only out for a few minutes, but that was it, war."

Draco's eyes flashed and Harry could very clearly see the battle of wills behind them. Knowing both combatants, he didn't envy either of them.

"She was stood there when I came round, with a new breakfast tray, and she told me I was going to eat," Draco continued.

"And so you didn't," Harry rolled his eyes, but squeezed his lover's fingers as he recognised the remembered indignance in him.

"No I bloody didn't," the young man agreed, "and there was no way she was stopping me from practising."

"But no more manifestations?"

Draco wrinkled his nose and admitted, "I'm pig-headed, not stupid."

"So what did you do?"

"I went swimming," the wizard grinned, and all trace of annoyance dropped away from him as he continued, "I let my mind go and dived into the lake. It was incredible, I felt like I could do anything. I could feel the magic all around me like it was alive. I just started ignoring everything else."

"Is this what you meant by practising all day? It has certainly helped your control already," Harry slipped into observer mode for a minute as the information piqued his interest.

"Yes and no," Draco grimaced again, and the frustration resurfaced as he explained, "I'd have spent all day meditating, but that hellcat kept coming in and distracting me. 'Mr Malfoy, you must eat something. Mr Malfoy, you have a visitor. Mr Malfoy, constant stillness is not good for you.' So I persuaded Old Dumbledore to back me when I suggested being able to practise with my magic. He sat with me a while," the young man's face became grateful in the midst of his annoyance. "He kept an eye on me when I began. It was almost like being at school again."

"He's good like that," Harry agreed, recalling the night his friend had watched his dreams for him, but he didn't vocalise the thought, instead, he offered, "I'll have a chat with him and the others and see what I can do about getting authorisation for more comprehensive practising."

"God you sound official," his companion mocked with fake admiration, but he was covering other emotions with the comedy, and Harry met them with, "How's it been? The magic I mean."

"Well it isn't trying to kill me anymore," Draco shrugged, and Harry saw all trace of flippancy leave him as he belatedly recognised the truth in his own words. "Apart from the breakfast tray, it just seems to be odd random stuff when I'm not concentrating: Pomfrey chewed me out for unlocking the door twice -- don't think she believed I didn't do it deliberately. Six locking charms seems to hold my subconscious though. I also set fire to a magazine and then flooded the place trying to put it out."

"I know Poppy's choice in mags is limited, but there was no need for that," Harry laughed, and Draco just pouted at him. The expression was so childishly open that Harry wanted to play. Given his closeness to his lover, the young man's mind went quickly from juvenile things to more adult games, and he goaded wantonly, "That was probably the Fire Staff of Te'ehmath coming out again, remember last time?"

His partner's sharp features broke into a smile which said he'd understood the suggestion, and, as he was pulled into a kiss, Harry felt the first touch of titillating warmth run right down his back. He murmured his pleasure and decided that sleep could wait another hour.  


* * *

Harry knew he should be awake, something was telling him to wake up, but he was so comfortable that it took him a while to answer the call. Even then he didn't open his eyes immediately; instead, he lay in the half-world and experienced the extraordinarily content feeling of waking up entwined with his lover. The bed was not awfully big, and the pair had finally fallen asleep with Draco's torso draped halfway across Harry's chest, and one of the blond's legs hooked over Harry's. He was therefore effectively pinned to the bed by his partner's body, and it felt wonderful. Draco was snoring lightly, his sound almost like a cat's purr as breath ran easily in and out of his lungs, and Harry shifted a little so that the fair head was the first thing he saw as he opened his eyes.

Draco reacted with a low murmur when his pillow moved, but he did not wake up, and Harry smiled as his blurry eyesight took in the peaceful face that was turned towards him.

[This is how it should be,] he thought, stroking the unkempt mane of white hair out of his lover's face.

Yet that was all the contemplation time Harry was allowed, because his instincts tugged again, and he remembered why he had woken up. Still not feeling anything alarming, the wizard turned his attention away from his companion and looked over to where his gut led him. Then his mouth dropped open. It was hovering about four foot from the floor in the corner of the room, and it was beautiful. A ball of two-tone light shone in the recess of the dimly lit room, passive in all things except its beauty, which spoke to its discoverer at a very fundamental level. This wasn't just a superficial splendour, as Harry looked at the blue-tinged and green-tinged light emanating from the corner, he could feel the impact of pure magic on the world, and it felt good.

The creation reacted to Harry's attention; it rose a few inches from its starting point and began to drift towards the watcher. Even then, the young man felt no concern for the elemental form, he just regarded it with wonder. As it came closer, his marvel increased as he realised that the two colours of light were in fact separate strands of magic, and that they crissed and crossed each other hundreds of times to create a delicately woven ball. The phenomenon's bi-light undulated as it came to a stop beside the bed, and Harry's instincts spoke to him more strongly. This was not conscious magic, every ounce of training and experience told the Auror that it couldn't be, but still he felt it had been waiting to display itself. Responding to that thought, Harry reached for his lover and gently shook his shoulder. Draco wasn't far from waking, and he opened his eyes almost instantly. His gaze went straight to the visible magic, which had to be his creation, and it showed the same kind of captivation that had ensnared Harry.

"It's beautiful," Harry shared his admiration in a soft whisper.

"It's -- I don't know what it is," Draco muttered sleepily, lifting himself off his companion slightly to take a better look at the hovering magic.

"Don't think it's dangerous," Harry assured him, reaching for his glasses to get a better look as Draco's movement gave him more freedom.

His wonder only increased as with the greater detail given him by his spectacles, he realised that each fine strand was itself many luminescent filaments plaited together; these threads were also the same two colours, only their number in each bundle giving it the final appearance of being one or the other. If he squinted, Harry could just make out the finer strands were also subdivided. As he thought about it, Harry's magical sense told him that the divisions went on much further than the eye could see, and the infinite entwinings gave him an overall feeling of union.

Draco sat all the way up as his own curiosity clearly got the better of him, and without any trepidation at all, he reached out to his newest creation. The light flowed over to his open palm like a moth to a flame, and pulsed as it passed through his fingers. The blond man smiled, a deep, honest expression of joy, and captivated Harry as easily as the source of his delight had done a moment earlier.

"It's almost like it's alive," he observed, his blue eyes flicking over to his companion as he spoke, but quickly returning to where the delicate object danced around his hand.

"You've given it independence, like the other manifestations," Harry agreed.

"But this isn't anything I remember," the young man returned, "it's not something I assimilated, I'm certain of that."

"It's just part of you," Harry told him as he too sat up, and then he draped his arms around his lover. "Your dreams created it."

"Don't remember them," Draco pouted, lowering his hand, but then he grinned and offered, "in fact I slept extraordinarily well."

"Me too," Harry smiled back and then kissed his partner on the nose before observing, "You're better than DSP any day."

"I do my best," his companion returned smugly, but his concentration was already slipping back to the elemental magic, which was hovering close by; as they both turned back to it, Harry had the distinct impression it was watching them. "What do we do with it?"

"I suppose you have to disperse it," Harry sighed, feeling a vague pang of grief at that idea. "Poppy would not be pleased if we left it floating around in here."

Draco didn't answer; his profile said that he was not entirely happy with the idea, but he reached up to the quaffle-sized ball and caressed it gently. Harry drew in a comfortable breath as the magic flared at his lover's touch and his own instincts followed suit. It felt so good that he had to use all his willpower to stop himself from calling a halt to Draco's intent. The bright flash put spots in front of Harry's eyes and he had to blink round them, moving his head to look at the form as its light dimmed; slowly he made out the fact that one half of all the strands had disappeared. Draco frowned; Harry stifled the sinking feeling in his stomach. The green light was more stubborn than its blue counterpart, and the blond man worded his request, "Please go."

The magic reacted by drifting through his fingers one more time, and sadly, Harry watched as nothing came out of the back of Draco's hand. The creator shivered as the last of the magic dispersed, and admitted, "That was weird."

"I think you're going to have to get used to 'weird' from now on," Harry observed, and to cover the odd feeling of loss that sat at the back of his mind, he rubbed his lover's back supportively.

"That's not one of your more helpful comments, Potter," Draco grimaced at him, but then decided the rubbing was rather good and stretched against it, with a contented murmur.

Harry persisted in the action until his lover stopped pressing against his hand, and then he decided it was time to move. Their own room was still dimly lit, but from the brighter light that was making patterns on the wall just below their curtains, Harry surmised that morning had come round in the hospital wing.

"I have to get going," he announced, being brisk so as not to accommodate the attractive thought of pursuing the massage further. "Nev will be tapping his foot and Remus will be wondering where I am if I don't get back to the barracks before breakfast."

He slid out of bed and began scanning the floor to work out which set of randomly strewn garments were his, and which were Draco's. Hospital issue pyjamas were all alike, and he settled for grabbing the nearest items, since he knew he and Draco were the same size. Draco remained in the bed, watching the sudden burst of activity with superior detachment. Well, Harry assumed it was superior detachment, because of his silence, and it was only as the young man glanced back at his partner that he realised Draco's attention was focused on his behind.

"Draco, we don't have time," Harry lamented as he gauged less than innocent ideas sparking behind his lover's eyes, "I'll probably have to fight for a shower as it is, and it'll be cold, you remember what it was like at school. Pity you don't have a bathroom yet."

"Yet?" nothing got past the Slytherin in Draco.

"I expect Poppy will reveal it today, since you're clearly fit, but not in time for me to use it."

"You mean there's one here?" Draco looked put out by that news; Harry nodded and his companion protested, "But I was fit yesterday!"

"She likes to be sure," Harry defended.

That didn't halt the storm on Draco's face, and his eyes scanned walls.

"Draco, no," the Auror ordered as he felt his stomach begin to knot, but his lover was not taking instructions.

The walls began to shimmer as the wizard's attention moved over them. His ice eyes glinted, and he grinned his triumph as the eddying mirage of a door appeared behind his influence, and then his face hardened into concentration. Harry watched the door solidify with a mixture of admiration for the skill involved and guilt for the wilfulness being displayed. As an Auror he should have called a halt to something that usurped Poppy's authority, but his disapproval only went so far as a frown as it warred with his selfish side which told him he could now spend a little more time with his lover. When the door was well and truly revealed, Draco threw himself off the bed with enthusiasm and finished standing in between his partner and the bathroom.

"Don't look so officious," he announced, grabbing Harry's hands and backing towards the door, "you want to get clean as much as I do."

He huffed and tried to maintain his disapproval for longer, but the sparkle in his lover's eyes spoke to his libido, and he put up very little resistance as he was pulled towards the door.


	37. An Inspection Like None Other

The suds ran down his chest from where Draco had squeezed a flannel against his skin and Harry closed his eyes as the bubbles teased his already heightened arousal. He had told his lover very sternly that they had to be quick, that there was no time for playing if he was to slip back into the barracks without too many questions. Draco had promised faithfully that washing was all they were going to do, but somehow the shower had turned into petting, which was gradually getting heavier. Draco was a devious sod when he wanted his own way, and every cleansing brush had been designed to lead Harry where his partner wanted to go. The source of consternation for Harry was that he knew this, but he had not been able to locate the reserve of responsibility and willpower which would have brought a stop to the titillation. The truth was, he was enjoying himself too much.

Harry opened his eyes again to look at the smug grin on Draco's face.

"I know what you're doing," he revealed, but it didn't bother Draco; the blond man just leant forward and kissed him.

A body pushed forcefully into his as Harry gave no resistance to the caress, and then there were arms around him, hands snaking down to grab his arse. The sudden increase in intensity brought matters to a head, and Harry knew that if he let the encounter go on much longer then he would not be leaving soon. Draco was horny, Draco was inviting, but a small part of his brain told him that there would be people worrying about him if he didn't make a swift exit, and he used the thought to muster some resolve. Reluctantly he broke the embrace, pushing his lover away with one hand and reaching to turn off the shower with the other.

"I have to go," he managed, hurriedly opening the cubicle door and almost falling out as he tried to avoid thinking about how much he wanted to stay.

However, Draco was not going to be beaten so easily, and he followed only a pace behind his companion, reaching after him. Harry turned as his arm was grabbed, trying to repeat his protestation; however, his lover challenged first with, "Remember that little talk we had about enjoying the anarchy?"

His blue eyes flashed with a wildness which did not fail to draw Harry in, and then Draco ran his hand, which still held the flannel, down over his partner's erection. The man smiled intimately as Harry gasped at the aggressive move. The rough cloth, heavy with water, did its job magnificently, and the argument for leaving escaped Harry as his arousal grew stronger.

"You can't leave yet," Draco persuaded with a pout. "You haven't passed muster."

"Muster?"

Harry could see the start of a game in his partner's manner, but he wasn't quite following.

"Muster," the blond repeated, and explained as he continued to stroke slowly, "You're an Auror, you have certain standards to maintain."

"Standards," the young man was beginning to see where this was going, and then he ground his teeth as his interruption was rewarded with a momentarily tighter grasp on his throbbing groin.

"Cleanliness is most important. I'm going to have to inspect you."

Harry knew he wasn't going to get any kind of inspection he'd ever had before, but his only comment was a distracted whine as Draco dragged the flannel the length of his shaft and took a pace away. The gaze which ran him up and down held an air of superiority, but coupled with the lust which accompanied it, Harry quite liked being on display. He stared right on back, running his own appraisal of the muscled body which stood before him, glistening with water. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch, that wasn't part of the game, and he wanted to explore the playful instincts which added to his sense of sensuality. So he stood still, waiting for a lead and enjoying the attention as Draco began a slow circle around him.

Draco Malfoy knew exactly how to draw out a moment, and he took his time on the circuit, maintaining a distance, with his body at least. Yet his eyes -- even when Harry couldn't see them, he could feel them moving deliberately over his body and his anticipation grew. When the blond man finally stopped, once again in front of his lover, his gaze held the same mixture of sexual intensity and appraisal as when he had started, but his body gave away which urge was the stronger.

"Closer inspection is required in some areas," he decided, and Harry's arousal pulsed at the prospect. However, Draco intercepted any want his partner had to reach for him with, "Hands by your sides, Potter, you're on parade!"

Harry was standing to attention in more ways than one, and the self-control required to keep his palms against his legs was titillatingly painful, especially as Draco came so close he was almost touching.

"Behind the ears," the lead player announced, hovering to the side. "Right first."

Harry moved his head just a little as the flannel caressed his earlobe. Draco tutted, and, biting his lip, his subject tried to hold still. It was such a light brush, but it sent shots of delight through Harry. The blond moved further behind his companion, his touch disappearing, and Harry waited with anticipation for him to cross to the other ear. Yet that wasn't what Draco intended. Lips and a tongue were placed where the cloth had been and all the air rushed out of Harry's chest. Hands came firmly over his, holding them by his sides as Draco guessed that his lover's self-control was not that good. Harry groaned as the body behind him maintained only enough contact to allow its owner access to the tiny area of sensitive skin around the playmate's ear, and his arousal burned unrelentingly.

Draco gave the lobe plenty of attention before he broke away.

"Clean," he announced in a tone which belied the passion with which he had gone about the activity.

The blond moved further around the back of his lover, announcing, "Left ear." Harry thought he was ready for the touch of the flannel, however, his gasp was one of pain as the cloth was brought firmly around his ear and rubbed like an irate mother might wash dirt from her child. He would have turned then and broken the play, but his partner quickly replaced the rough, burning stroke with his mouth, and the resultant mixture of tingling and soft dampness was exquisite. The leader held his subject's hands against his sides once more, and Harry hung on to what willpower he had left, sinking further into the game of mixed signals with trembles of pleasure.

Draco finished his caress, but stayed close as he whispered, "Hmm, more work to be done here." With a final flick of his tongue against the sensitised lobe, which drew a whimper from Harry as he resisted all urges to move against it, Draco then backed off again. Harry could feel eyes on his back and he shivered as he waited, his anticipation flooding his system and making his skin prickle.

"Back of the neck," his lover told him, and this time there was no flannel, just the immediate touch of lips on the bone at the base of his neck, just below his collar. Harry didn't move his hands, but he leant into the circle of dampness, tipping his head back with a sigh as teeth nipped at his skin. His movement caused a break in relations, and Draco ordered, "Head straight, eyes front, Auror!" Harry growled this time, his frustration at not being able to react just outweighing the pleasure the knot of expectation was creating. However, he obeyed and was rewarded with a lick that ran over the protruding bone and then up and under the leather at his neck. His discontent became shudders, and Harry locked his knees as the wonderful conflict made his head spin.

It was so tempting just to reach up to the hands which were on his shoulders this time and show how much he enjoyed the touch, but Harry carried on playing, his murmur the only voluntary expression of his ardour. Draco nipped and licked and kissed around the base of the back of his lover's neck, his attention slavish as he usurped the droplets of shower water with his warm mouth. Harry moaned with every touch.

When he had finished, Draco did not step away this time, he remained close behind his partner, making the hairs on Harry's neck stand up with the almost touching adjacency. His breath played over Harry's shoulder, short and tense, giving away the blond man's excitement. Slowly he moved his hand holding the washcloth down over his companion's shoulder blade and then his spine, dribbling water before it and making Harry twitch with the now lukewarm rivulets. He paused at the tail bone, as he announced, "And now..." Movement when it came was swift and created a cry from Harry as the cloth was forced between his buttocks and over the receptive skin within. "Your arse," Draco finished savagely. Harry lost his footing at the ferocity in the movement, taking a step forward and grabbing the sink for support. His lover laughed at this, and used the shift to slide his hand further between his playmate's now spread legs. Harry gasped repeatedly, shocked and distractedly helpless, his heart racing with excitement. If Draco had wanted his full attention, he had got it, and the blond relaxed his effort into a tease as his success put shudders through his lover. Fingers stroked through the rough fabric, causing more chokes of powerless pleasure from Harry's throat. Draco answered them with, "Good man, Potter, just where I want you."

Harry didn't have the breath to reply coherently, but he did glance over his shoulder, his look a glare of indignance surrounding a desire strong enough to be read without words. Draco's play didn't stop, but he answered the demand in his partner with a smile that promised everything and then he dropped to his knees. Harry let his chin rest on his chest and closed his eyes in expectation. The flannel had lost the last of its heat, and Draco let it fall to the floor, but his damp fingers continued to caress his lover. Yet, their touch paled against the warm moistness which then flicked against the sensitive skin below his anus. The young man moaned as he shifted position to give better access and asked for a more definite contact. Draco obliged, and Harry's sound continued, growing deeper, as soft, damp muscle was drawn up between his cheeks. He couldn't help himself, as tongue was pressed over his opening, he moved against it. However, he whined his frustration as his partner had his own plan of action and continued up to kiss his coccyx. Draco's breath played over the base of his spine as the man laughed lightly again, and Harry stared down at his knuckles, which were almost as white as the sink enamel. Teeth ran over his left buttock, and he started as they nipped at his flesh, but his complaint was lost before it reached his mouth, drowned by the heady rush that was his arousal threatening to take him over the edge. Draco's fingers moved swiftly to calm the tide with a little pressure, and Harry groaned with the thwarting he had felt before.

"Not yet," his companion's order drifted up to him.

However, any waiting was finally over, and Harry surrendered to the experience as first a hand came up between his legs and took hold of his erection, and then the glorious contact of tongue on hyper-sensitised tissue took the world away. Nothing else mattered to Harry except for the rhythm of Draco's stroking which began along his shaft and the blissful, slippery pressure which woke his pleasure centres. He heard his own voice, far away, full of uncontrolled exclamations and rushes of breath, and he didn't care. He had no need to hide anything from his partner, and he followed where he was led with a freedom which answered all the tantalising suspense which Draco had crafted. His partner's skill drove Harry on, the mixture of dexterity and strength pushing him further, back to the summit from which he had been brought back once already, and this time there was no stopping his climax when it hit him like a wall. The young man thought he screamed, but he couldn't be sure as raw, heady release swamped his senses completely.

When he could open his eyes and breath again, Harry found himself clinging to the sink, leaning on it; something at the back of his mind was surprised that he was still vertical, but the rest of him just enjoyed the remnants of the orgasm, letting his senses return to him in their own time. He looked up at himself in the mirror, his face flushed, his pupils dilated with pleasure, but he didn't smile. Draco was now pressed close to his side, one arm draped behind his back, and long fingers were caressing lightly where tongue had been only moments ago. They promised yet more, but there was a tease still in his lover's manner, and the knowledge that it wasn't going to be so easy caused a pout.

"Well done, Auror, you passed. You may go," Draco informed him matter-of-factly, but at the same time increased the pressure on his opening, just a little so that he felt the anticipation of penetration.

Harry growled, closing his eyes for a moment and pushing back at him, but the tormentor lightened his touch again, swirling his finger tips around the sensitive area, teasing beyond the dark man's limits.

"Something wrong? I said you could go," Draco taunted, but Harry had had enough. He opened his eyes again and fixed his lover in the mirror with a stare which spoke of his hunger, and he demanded menacingly, "Finish it."

Instantly, Draco's fingers were slick against him as the wizard's magic answered the command and with one movement, he was no longer being teased. Harry tensed a moment at the suddenness of the intrusion, but he had been well-prepared and his approval came out in a sigh. He relaxed, and Draco drew back the one digit he had inserted, massaging as he went, and then there were two where there had been one. The young man groaned, letting the touch open him, and then it was no longer fingers. The dark man gasped as his lover pushed in smoothly, but directly, to the length of his glossy shaft and displayed his own craving; games were fun, but playing was over. The blond pushed against his partner, wanting still that little bit more intimacy, as the façade of indifference disappeared completely; Harry gave it to him.

Harry Potter looked at himself again in the mirror, and for a second, wondered how he had been manipulated into this position. Yes, he was enjoying himself, god was he enjoying himself, but he had intended to be responsible, he had decided to do the sensible thing, and yet it had all fallen at the feet of desire. Draco was good at getting his own way, the Slytherin guile could run around a Gryffindor spirit with ease. Still, Harry had recognised the moves, he had known what his lover was after, and he had to admit that he had let himself be managed. The young man smiled at himself; he didn't give a damn. Draco moved inside him. He closed his eyes, tipped his head back and embraced the sensation, letting the world go to hell.

* * *

After another shower and a long snog, which had resulted from Harry's original interpretation of 'towel drying', Draco was the one of the pair who finally reached for the summoning bell as Harry was tying his robe's belt. It took Neville only moments to appear at the door, and his face showed exasperation, hassle and no little annoyance.

"It's almost shift changeover," he chastised, storming into the room carrying two bundles, one under each arm. "I want to be able to tell Poppy in my own, careful way about what I let you two get up to last night, not have her walk in on you!"

"Sorry, we -," the two men began together, but the healer wasn't finished, and interrupted hotly, "Got carried away? I know, I know, the pair of you are infuriating."

"I must take the blame," Draco stood up and put on his best humble expression. "Harry was ready to leave, and I persuaded him to stay."

"Don't care who started it," Neville returned, clearly in a hurry and too much in a fret to care what he said. He headed to the bed and dropped his piles and chided, "You're both adults, you really should learn to behave like them. Now, it's too late for you, Harry, to go wandering about the corridors in your pyjamas, so I had a House Elf go and collect some of your clothes, _discretely_."

The shorter man gathered up one bundle and held it out to his old school friend.

"And here are yours, Malfoy, cleaned and pressed," the harassed carer just waved at the second neat pile on the bed. "They were to be returned later, but since you already pre-empted the bathroom," he looked at the revealed door (which Draco had been ready to hide again, but Harry had decided that their healer would know anyway) and then frowned deliberately at both men for a long time before continuing, "I will be telling Poppy that I decided to bring both events forward. Any other version of proceedings will get you both skinned alive and me cleaning the toilets until I'm at least one hundred."

Harry looked a Draco, the blond looked back, and then, very seriously, they returned, "Yes, Neville/Longbottom."

"Good," the stocky man stood back from the bed and surveyed his two troublemakers for a moment. "Alright, now, Harry, you can change in my office, I am not risking you taking your clothes off in here again, you'd be here till lunch." Just at that moment, Neville realised what he had said, and coloured, but only a little, he was still too stressed to really care. Harry made the mistake of not obeying immediately, he was too stunned by the flurry of activity that had to have been brewing for hours, and he found himself shooed towards the door. Neville in a temper was a formidable sight, equal to Poppy Pomfrey and the wizard found himself on the outside of the room before he'd had time to catch his breath. Longbottom stopped in the doorway, and was wagging his wand as he spoke to Draco, who had sat passively down on the bed, "Now, get dressed and then open these curtains, or I'll remove them again."

"I will," Malfoy promised sincerely, and then the door was closed.

As Neville turned to him, Harry saw some of his steam running out, and he smiled at the exasperation, which began to turn to relief.

"Thank you, Nev," he jumped in honestly before anymore could be said.

"I should never have let you stay," the short man responded, shaking his head ruefully as they began to move down the corridor.

"But I had the best night's sleep without potions or exhaustion that I've had since leaving Hogwarts," Harry countered, not really trying to win any arguments, just expressing the truth.

Neville glanced sideways at him, clearly torn by his annoyance and the genuineness he read from his friend.

"Draco didn't break any wards, either," he shrugged, the smile still playing over his features.

"Never again," Neville told him, but there was no power behind his statement.

Harry patted him on the back and resisted any other response.

[We'll see about that,] he thought to himself.

* * *

When he walked back into the bunk room, Harry found a scene which struck him as a larger-scale version of morning in the dorm back in Gryffindor Tower. However, he sat on that thought very hard as associations about that place came to him that he didn't want, and so it was that he walked up to his bunk with a frown on his face. Remus was tying his shoes while balancing against the bedside cabinet, but he stopped as soon as he laid eyes on his friend.

"Anything the matter, Harry?" he asked immediately.

The young man deliberately cleared his face of the leftover thought, and dragged back the good night to bring a smile to his features.

"No, everything is fine," he returned, and bent to draw back the curtains from around his bunk. "Couldn't sleep, and went for a wander."

"Then why was a House Elf digging in your trunk an hour ago?" Remus asked, this time in a much lower voice.

Harry turned to his comrade; he'd thought about lying, he'd just attempted a half-truth, but it wasn't going to work, he was too happy about the night, and so he decided to be honest.

"Spent the night in the medibay," he answered, also quietly and obtusely, in case anyone was listening in, but he knew Remus understood the meaning behind his statement as his eyebrows hit his hairline. "Nev got my clothes sent across," he finished.

The werewolf just looked at his companion, dumfounded by the open grin which Harry sent him; he liked anarchy.

* * *

Harry put down his spoon and looked across at Remus. They hadn't spoken much since sitting down in the mess in their own little corner, but the younger man knew that the elder had something to say.

"Out with it, Remus," he challenged good-naturedly, and caught the other off guard.

Lupin blinked at him, surprised by the direct approach and clearly uncertain about what was bothering him.

"I've got enough to handle with Ron being all awkward and silent," Harry met the matter head-on, "don't do it to me as well. We've been friends too long for you to bite your tongue now."

His companion stared at Harry a while longer, his lips drawn into a thin, pensive line, but eventually he began in a concerned whisper, "Don't you think you're going about this Draco business like Incendius in a paper factory?"

Harry smiled and sat back from his meal, contemplating his reply.

"I suppose I am being rather direct," he agreed, which earned him a look of _understatement of the century_. Blithely, he continued, "I just don't want to play games."

"Just be careful," Remus would not let up. "It could be dangerous, at the very least problematic, for _both_ of you, for others to know about your attachment to Draco, after all, he's a wanted man in these circles."

Harry did take note then as the seriousness of the warning made it home. He straightened and answered, "I'll be discrete, Remus, I promise."

That seemed to satisfy the Order Chief's concerns, but there was something else in his face as he relaxed, and he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief as he asked, "Where did all this throwing yourself into a relationship come from? You were always so, so-."

"Hopeless at them?" the young man grinned, and slowly Remus nodded, a wry smile also gracing his features. "Never could fathom out what to say and when to say it. Nearest I came to a real relationship was Mysty Dawn."

"The pop singer, oh yes, I met her on one of my first trips out, didn't I?" Lupin nodded as his memory caught up.

"Six months that lasted, and sometimes I think it was only that long because it was mainly long distance," Harry carried on. "Considering it was originally arranged just for publicity by the Ministry and her agent, I think we did rather well to even get along."

"Why did you break it off?"

"It got too long distance -- all Mysty's touring kept her away. I only saw her twice in the last month. It was a mutual decision, that although we liked the idea, we weren't going anywhere. Her agent and Fudge were heartbroken."

Harry sighed and put a hand to his heart. Remus laughed.


	38. Professional About The Wizard

After breakfast, Harry dove into his first whole day of freedom with a spirit bolstered by the pleasurable night. First things first, he'd felt like getting back into some form of routine, and so he headed, as he had always done back on the base, to the gym. However, he was not left to his own devices as had been the case back in the US, he found himself expected, and an exercise program organised by the long reach of Poppy Pomfrey was waiting for him. An hour in the gym passed fairly smoothly, except for one unfortunate incident when the total immersion cross-trainer had jumped from the illusion setting of 'Mountain Moments', a brisk hillside walk, to that of 'Castle Challenge', a spiral staircase marathon, due to a hiccup in the spell, which no one had warned Harry about. The brainstorm had been unsettling, but Harry found it pleasantly easy to push the dark thoughts away with the more recent memories of his blond lover, and he'd finished the routine with a grin on his face.

A little surprised at being tired after the low impact training and realising once again that his healer had been right, Harry left the gym and began to contemplate the rest of the day. He recalled his promise the previous evening, and decided that it was time to speak to someone about Draco's practice. However, it was all very well being the Auror in charge of all things Draco Malfoy, but finding anyone to engage about the situation was a pain in the wand hand. Finding Albus, Minerva or even at a last ditch attempt, Amelia, was nigh on impossible, they were all very busy people, what with the school and closed meetings at which Harry knew he would not be welcome. That idea niggled, that he was still only halfway to being trusted, and Harry was determined to make some headway in the area where he had some power. That persistence led him to the door of someone whose influence he may have accepted at a distance, but to whom, given his antics the previous evening, sense might have suggested that he give a wide berth for a while. Poppy Pomfrey was not going to be the easiest of people with whom to discuss Draco Malfoy right at the moment. Harry could only imagine the conversation which had passed between Neville and his superior that morning, but he took heart in the fact that he hadn't been summoned for a tongue-lashing, and the young man's need to fulfil his promise outweighed his caution. Thus, showered and refreshed, he appeared at Poppy's door, trying to come up with his own version of the charm that he had watched his lover exude apparently effortlessly.

The healer looked up from a parchment on which she was working at Harry's knock. Her face was initially curious and ready to greet a visitor, however, her brow creased ever so slightly as she recognised her guest.

"Mr Potter," she greeted, putting down her quill and standing up; she leant on the desk like a school ma'am ready to chastise one of her pupils, but she said nothing as Harry moved into the room.

"Poppy," Harry returned with a bright smile, determined to barrel through the silent disapproval, "may I speak with you, please?" Then he thought about how evasive that statement sounded and added, "It's about Draco."

The healer's eyebrows hit her hairline, and she commented disapprovingly, "I would have thought you had done enough talking about Mr Malfoy with Healer Longbottom."

"This is an official matter," the young man gave up trying to charm almost as soon as he'd begun, as his thoughts betrayed him.

Poppy's expression remained very much the same, quite clearly disbelieving, but Harry countered with, "Poppy, just because I have feelings for the man doesn't mean I can't be professional about the wizard. There are things we need to discuss about Draco's practising techniques."

The woman still looked dubious, but she settled from the out and out disdain for the idea of a discussion. She sat down stiffly, and indicated to a chair in front of her desk. Harry sunk into the seat and regarded his host; her eyes ran over the papers on her desk as she paid them close attention while tidying them away. The young man just waited, wanting his friend's complete attention before he began, but the silence sent prickles up his back. Poppy was clearly uncomfortable, and when she did finally look up at her visitor, her gaze was hostile as she announced, "Proceed, Mr Potter."

Harry sighed, he didn't want this conversation to be a stifled discourse, Ron was enough of a problem, and ironically, he felt he knew this woman better than his old friend just at the moment. He smiled again, and admitted, "Poppy, do we have to tiptoe around each other? Say what you have to say."

That caught the healer off guard, and, for a moment, Harry thought he had ignited a fire he couldn't control. However, the flame behind Poppy's eyes was brought down by her own good sense, and she sat silent again, staring at her companion for a few moments. Finally, she spoke with icy calm, "I don't believe I have to express my opinion of your behaviour last night."

"Draco is my lover," Harry surprised himself with the frank statement, and shocked his friend if her glance at him was anything to go by, but he refused to be put down by it. "And last night may have been unorthodox, but I don't think we did anything wrong."

"Bullying my healer-," Poppy began, her fire igniting again, but Harry cut her off very definitely, as his own ire rose, with, "We did not bully, or charm, or blackmail Neville into anything. You know how stubborn he is, and he was perfectly capable of resisting either myself or Draco. He let us stay together because he thought it was for the best, for both of us, and he was right. I was planning on wandering around this place until I found a broom cupboard or something to sleep in. Instead, for the luck of meeting Dobby, I had the best night's sleep I've had since this whole crappy thing began."

Harry looked away, he hadn't planned on discussing the previous night in anything more than passing, and his emotions had taken him by surprise, even as he felt them calming again. Silence fell again, and the young man remained staring at the floor; he didn't want to meet with any more disapproval, he'd had enough of that with his initial revelations, and so he just waited for it to meet him.

"Harry, I will not condone your using my infirmary as a love nest," Poppy eventually broke the tense stillness, but despite her words, her tone had softened somewhat; Harry risked looking up and found a mixture of disapproval and compassion looking back at him. A smile slowly developed on the healer's features, and her eyes twinkled as she added, "Even though it has improved Mr Malfoy's demeanour."

The Auror couldn't help the grin he sent back, and he asked, "Is he being more polite now?"

"That young man is all charm," the woman's smile went crooked as she shook her head in disbelief. "I would not trust him as far as I could wandlessly levitate him."

Harry laughed, and indulged in a moment of recollection at his lover's manipulation, surrender to which had rewarded him so highly that morning. However, now was not the time for such dalliances, and he decided it was time to broach the professional side of the conversation. "You may not be able to wandlessly levitate, but Draco can," he began more seriously, "and at the moment, he's doing it unconsciously as well as when he's trying. He told me about the locking charms, and I believe him when he says he didn't mean to do it. The only way we're going to stop stuff like that happening is if he gets used to his magic, and for that he needs practice." Poppy had settled, and he could see the thoughts at the back of her gaze which told him she was thinking about the head to head of yesterday. "Yes, he also told me about the stunner you used on him," Harry addressed the idea with a grin and assured, "and I don't blame you. Manifestation was probably not the best of things to be trying without warning anyone he was doing it."

"Idiot man," the healer agreed, ruffling at the memory in her eyes.

"Draco just wants to be in control of himself," Harry tried to sooth, but hit a nerve. Before the new flash in Poppy's stare could become more, he continued, "Being out of control can be a very frightening thing, Poppy. Draco has no power over his future at all at the moment, not even his magic, and the only part he can hope to master in the short term is within himself. So can you blame him for trying, however foolish his methods?"

Sense seemed to register with his companion, and Madame Pomfrey refrained from making immediate comment. Harry waited for her considered reply, and it came as a question, "How do you plan to meet this need?"

"Supervised practice," Harry returned, with a little too much relief in his manner; he smiled at the further eyebrow raise he was given and explained, "I'm going to look into more techniques than just manifestation for helping Draco to familiarise himself with his magic, but for now, it's all we have, and it's working. I suggest he only tries that when I'm around, and so I'd like to organise a regular time with you for this activity."

"Is that all you are going to be doing?" Poppy questioned directly, so directly that she made Harry laugh.

"Wizard's honour," he returned, chuckling at the insinuation, "no sex during practice."

The woman blinked at her companion, slightly embarrassed by his blatant reply, but Harry just grinned and continued back on track, "I would like to pass any new training techniques through you. I suggest we classify them into things that Draco can practice alone, and those which require prior planning."

"You do seem to have thought this through, Harry," Poppy commended, putting her business face back on. "I suggest after lunch for a couple of hours would be a suitable time. However, I would also suggest that this needs authorisation from both the Order and the Resistance."

Harry sighed and admitted, "I couldn't find anyone to discuss it with this morning."

"I could use my channels of communication, since Mr Malfoy is still, strictly speaking, my patient," the woman smiled with understanding.

"Thanks, Poppy."

"I will let you know as soon as I receive a reply, it might be a couple of days," Pomfrey warned, picking up her quill and beginning to make a few notes on a clean piece of paper.

"I'll go and start researching in the library, then, hoping they say yes," Harry returned, and stood up.

"Don't over tax yourself, Mr Potter," Poppy returned, in the most severe tone, and not looking up from her parchment, added, "libraries are more Madame Weasley's domain."

Harry snorted as the woman finally glanced up at him, her face displaying mischief, and countered, "I am not a complete dunce." And then, as the Weasley name sunk in, a thought occurred, "However, there is a Weasley who might be able to help. Thanks again, Poppy."

"Goodbye, Harry," followed him out of the room and he managed a wave, but his mind was already contemplating enlisting the help of not Hermione, but Ginny. He hadn't seen the young woman since the day of the rune removal, but from the treatment of others during the preparations for that day, he assumed that the youngest Weasley sibling of his generation was in much the same position as himself. Imperio, especially the particular brand of spell which had been used on Ginny, had been designed for long lasting effects, and it was a fair assumption that the witch was not going to be trusted with any secrets until it was clear all strands of the poisonous hex were gone. Hence, the Auror hoped he would find an ally, if he could just locate his friend.

* * *

When the searcher did eventually find his quarry, he chided himself for not having looked there first. Harry had almost given up trying to find Ginny; he'd discovered in which barrack she was staying, and sent a helpful young woman along to see if she was there, but to no avail. He tried asking people as he wandered around the family areas, but no luck. He even tried the library, but his researcher was not there. Finally, he'd decided to take a break in the mess, and who should be sitting alone at a table, nursing a large mug of hot chocolate, while staring into space, lost in thought, but Ginny Weasley. A wave as he approached, brought her out of her stupor, and a bright smile awakened the girl's pale features as she recognised her disturber.

"Harry," she greeted warmly, standing and wrapping him in a hug.

The young man ignored the eyes which followed him into the room, and hugged right on back.

"How's it going, Ginny?" he asked as they parted.

"Fine, fine," the young woman returned a little too quickly for it to have been considered, but she was smiling at him as he took a seat opposite her. "Tell me, did the rune removal happen like we supposed?"

"No-one's told you?!" Harry asked incredulously.

Ginny wrinkled her nose and replied, "Well, the day before yesterday, that brother of mine explained that you and Draco were alright, but it was in words of one syllable and then he wouldn't say anymore. Did you two have a fight?"

"Not exactly," the young man answered, and took the opportunity of a house elf bounding up to take his order to collect his thoughts. He requested a cup of tea and then, with a sigh, pressed on, "Ron and I don't exactly agree about Draco."

{Oh,} Ginny mouthed, but didn't make any sound, and the way she glanced down and began to stir her hot chocolate made Harry wonder what she knew.

"The magic did more or less what you suggested it would," the young man decided not to dwell and jumped back to the first question, "only there was so much, Draco would probably died of exhaustion if I hadn't helped."

"Minerva said something about manifestation when I spoke to her yesterday, and she seemed a bit concerned," a light frown crossed Ginny's face as she raised her cup to her mouth.

"Everyone's a 'bit concerned' about me and Draco at the moment," Harry answered, a grin spreading across his face as the anarchy found his sense of humour.

The 'oh' made it out of his companion's mouth this time, and she coloured as Harry gave her expression an appraising look. The sound was more one of confirmation, rather than surprise, and the young man addressed it with, "Okay, you know, don't you, and you're the first person not to be shocked right down to your toes."

Ginny shifted in her seat, and she stayed silent, gazing into her drink as the house elf came trotting back and deposited Harry's beverage on the table. However, any disquiet her apparent awkwardness created in her companion was dispersed as she looked back up at him once no-one was left in earshot, and whispered, "Well, I was in the castle remember, and the rumours were rather colourful. One wizard was even running a sweepstake on when you'd spend the night together."

Harry nearly choked on his tea. That drew a few more looks, but the young man couldn't help himself as he coughed around a laugh at the thought of a bunch of death eaters making bets on his sex life. Ginny giggled behind her mug.

"Did you enter?" he asked after the choke dispersed.

The girl's face fell, and she almost dropped her cup onto the table as she told her friend, "I was generally ignored unless they needed information."

Harry put down his own drink and reached across the table to where Ginny's hands sat limply on the wooden surface.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think," he apologised, squeezing her fingers supportively; he knew what flashbacks were like.

"You weren't to know," his companion responded, her smile that was meant to be reassuring, only conveying the bleakness her recollection had given her. Yet there was something else which accompanied her disquiet, and it met the pain that still resided in Harry in a way which forced a question out of his throat, which might otherwise have remained within, "Want to talk about it?"

That took Ginny by surprise, and Harry wondered if he'd said the wrong thing as her eyes became big and round. However, the young woman drew in a very long breath as her expressive gaze held her companion fast, and then she told him, "It seems to be all I've been doing. Minerva has been wonderful. Albus has promised to help me with Occlumency when my mind has recovered completely, so it can never happen again."

"He's a fantastic teacher," Harry joined in, unsure what else to say until he saw the hurt still in his friend's eyes and then he asked, "How are you feeling now?"

"Bit woolly round the edges," Ginny shrugged lackadaisically, but her hand was shaking within Harry's. "I remember all the things I did, and how it all made sense at the time. They were so clever, it wasn't out and out force, not like the spell they showed us in Defence Against The Dark Arts, it was more subtle. I really believed you were an enemy when I called for the guards. I knew who you were, but it didn't matter, I had been shown how terrible our world would be if the Dark Lord failed. His will was my will."

Harry didn't like the horror in his companion's gaze as she recalled the reasoning, but as with Draco's admissions, he didn't back away from it. Voldemort had been responsible for many terrible things, and all he could offer was support and understanding.

"I know what His tricks are like," the young man agreed. "I was just lucky they didn't persist with magic on my mind this time, even Albus' training wouldn't have stopped them for long."

"You have a strange definition of lucky," Ginny returned with a grimace, but her fingers finally gripped his back.

"I'm in one piece again, I'm not nuts, or so my head healer informs me anyway," Harry countered, surprising himself with the irreverence he felt, and then he realised why as he added, "and I came out of Hogwarts with an old friend I had thought dead, and a new one who makes me feel very lucky."

"Harry, you're not in love are you?" Ginny asked, leaning forward as she whispered the question.

"You and Tonks ought to talk," Harry grinned, and then nodded, "she's the one who pointed it out to me."

The young woman threw her arms around her friend exuberantly, and hissed into his ear, "Well done, Harry, I've been waiting for that since my crush wore off."

The young man laughed again, but this time knew there were too many eyes on them.

"Fancy a walk?" he asked, standing up while his friend was still clamped around his neck, so that he was left leaning over the table.

Ginny let him go, glanced at the clock and returned, "Why not? I've got a lunch appointment, but that's not for half an hour."

The pair wandered out of the mess with almost every attention on them. The woman slipped her arm through Harry's and leant in close. As soon as they were out of the door, she observed conspiratorially, "Y'know, I may have been waiting for you to find someone for nearly a decade, but I was expecting a woman, or at the very least, not Draco Malfoy."

"You think this surprised you?!" the young man shook his head. "If you asked me to explain it, I couldn't. I hated him, even when I first saw him again at Hogwarts. He tried to kill me, but instead of hating him even more, I fall in love with the man?"

"I can understand why you fell for his looks," Ginny confided with a wink, but then her face straightened as she added, "but Draco's always scared me, especially since I was sent back to Hogwarts. Sometimes he could look so vulnerable, when he thought no-one was looking, at the ceremonies I recorded, and then at other times there was a demon in his eyes."

"Hmm," was all Harry had to say on the matter as the conflicting images of his lover stuck in his mind's eye.

"Is he alright now, is the magic stable, I mean?" his companion cut through the tempting dilemma in his thoughts.

"More or less," the young man returned with a shrug. "I was looking for you as a matter of fact, because I wanted some help in that area."

"Fire away," the girl looked excited at the prospect of something to do.

"The magic is more or less contained in Draco, now," Harry explained, "but it still comes out in random ways sometimes, and Draco is having to learn how to control it. He and I came up with a way of getting him used to his magic, but it's drawn-out and Draco can't practice it alone. Since then, he's come up with another method, and, as a whiz in the library, I was hoping you could help me research some more."

"I'm in," Ginny had a glint in her eye as the challenge was laid that made her friend smile. "You can explain some more on the way!"

* * *

Ginny threw herself into her new role with an enthusiasm that had Harry up to his elbows in large tomes covering subjects from meditation techniques to magical training regimes in fifteen minutes. Then the young woman abandoned her companion for her lunch date with a few suggestions on how to take comprehensive notes. The wizard then sunk into his research, the measurement of time only governed by the growing pile of parchment on which Harry was scratching his discoveries. Two hours disappeared in rather dry descriptions of mental exercises, but Harry rather surprised himself by the practical ideas that the academic material inspired in him, and his notes were somewhat more colourful than their sources as his own experience of Draco's character suggested alternatives to the purist examples of inducements and penalties for performance.

Harry was deep in thought over some erotic images he was planning on using in another, more intimate form of guided meditation when his researcher friend returned. Ginny drew his attention by dropping a package on the notes in front of him, and the young man jumped. He blinked wildly from the wax-paper packet to his companion and back again as his thoughts scattered with the disruption, but settled, his cheeks burning as he came back to reality.

"Thanks," he managed, as he recognised the paper to be holding a round of sandwiches, and then drew in a stabilising breath.

"Couldn't have you not eating, Madame Pomfrey would have had both our guts for garters," Ginny replied in an habitually low library tone. "How's it going?"

Harry grabbed some less personal notes and dragged them over the top of the ones he had been writing as his companion leant over his shoulder.

"There's plenty here," he covered hastily, and pointing to the parchment, continued, "'Meditations and Control' had some good power level tuning exercises. They're meant to be used in group-spells to get the right level of power from all the people present, but the principal's the same for one person."

"Well done, Harry, we'll make a researcher out of you yet," Ginny complimented as she scanned his spidery notes.

"No thanks," the young man laughed and made a face, which drew a few stares from other library tables.

"Come on," Ginny waved at the door, "lets go and confer outside. No-one will disturb these books; you can eat and I can catch up on what you've found out."

Harry nodded and they wandered out of the library.

* * *

Hunger satisfied and information conferred, the pair set about their task once more. Ginny drew her friend even deeper into the world of books as ideas sometimes sprung up from their pages even faster than the companions could master. More than once they were threatened with ejection from the quiet room as their exuberance got the better of them in a discussion. However, Harry, the less experienced bookworm, began to flag faster than Ginny, as the multitude of thoughts threatened to dribble his brain out of his ears. He had a few inches of roughly scrawled notes, an aching hand, and he was trying to keep up with a train of thought that his friend was babbling at him when rescue came.

Professor McGonagall announced her presence with a polite cough, which succeeded in halting Ginny's flow. Harry glanced up at his old house mistress and smiled, dropping the quill he was holding and rubbing his hand absently. Minerva stood there for a moment, regarding the seated pair, and then observed, "Hello Ginny, Harry, I've been looking for you everywhere. I have to say this was the last place I expected."

"Ginny's been giving me a crash-course in research," Harry replied, still rubbing his fingers as they threatened to cramp.

"From the look of you, Harry, you crashed some time ago," the older woman observed with a smile.

Ginny glanced at her tutee, her eyes widening as her brain came back from book land and she recognised his weariness.

"Oh Harry, I'm sorry, I got carried away, you should have said something," she apologised, hiding a smile behind her hand as he made a face at her.

"So did I," the young man shrugged, "but I think we have enough for now."

"Well, when you two have put all these books away," the school ma'am came into force as Minerva looked at the wall of books on the table, which was several feet high, "I came to invite you both to dinner in Albus' rooms. Hermione has managed to arrange a visit, and Albus and myself decided it would be a welcome opportunity for a small dinner party."

"Wonderful," Ginny beamed.

"Thank you," Harry nodded, equally as glad as her sister-in-law to hear that Hermione was making a call. His problems with Ron instantly popped into the front of his mind, but the young man hoped that, in talking to his friend's wife, he might be able to start mending some bridges.


	39. Illusion

Dinner began, at least superficially, very well; everyone was glad to see Hermione, who brought news from the Burrow, and the first course was filled with chatter mainly between Ginny and Hermione as they discussed the Weasley family. Ron seemed happier in the company of his wife, and joined in from time to time, but Minerva, Albus and Harry were content to just listen, interjecting only the occasional support for the conversation when neglect of their own interests was suggested. Harry sunk back into his chair, nursing a goblet of very good wine as his empty plate disappeared. He was enjoying the brightness to his companions' countenances as they talked about family. Hermione was gushing about the twins to their aunt, whose face shone at the news of the children she hadn't seen since they had been babes. Yet, the young man let his eyes drift inexplicably off his female friends, and across to the far end of the table, where sat the great Albus Dumbledore. He too was watching the animated conversation, but something struck Harry as being wrong with his attention. Glancing back at the two Weasley women, the young man realised what it was; his mentor's focus was not the conversation, his eyes rested solely on Ginny, and the serene smile hidden under his beard was only partly in his eyes. Harry had recently been under a similar scrutiny to that which he recognised in his old friend's eyes upon Ginny, and it made him suddenly uncomfortable as he was reminded of the reasons behind such interest. It made him wonder if he was also being observed in such a close way, every unconscious reaction noted for further study. He received his answer as he dropped his gaze for a moment, and then lifted it again, but not this time onto Albus, but up to his other rock. Minerva was taken by surprise, and her assessment was still resting upon the young Auror as it was met.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight as the discomforting discovery sent a jolt of shock down Harry's spine, and he could not stifle the resultant distaste in his manner. His observer did not retreat from the hot stare she was given, however, instead she maintained the gaze, acknowledging the reaction with a softening of her appraisal. Now alert, Harry caught the movement of Albus' white head out of the corner of his eye, which told him that he was now being observed by both of his mentors. He cast his annoyance between them, making it silently clear that he did not like their attention, whether pre-planned or impromptu (although he suspected the former). However, like his comrade, Albus Dumbledore did not back down from discovery, and Harry was faced with two sets of gentler, but none-the-less formidable considerations.

The young man wasn't sure what to do. Was he being tested, as Amelia favoured, or was this just an unlucky discovery that was being met honestly? He didn't know, and catching himself second guessing his own reactions did not help Harry at all. He considered standing up and demanding to know why he and Ginny were being watched, but he knew that would just upset his friend, and was probably an overreaction. Still, he bristled silently, feeling patronised by the understanding gazes.

"Harry, Harry," Ginny, herself, unwittingly broke the moment as she leant over the table to him and distracted with, "you got a jumper from Mum too?"

The young man took a moment to respond, and he saw Hermione's eyes narrow as he shifted in his seat.

"Yes," came finally from his lips and he forced a smile. "It's the only clothing I actually own."

Now he was being watched by three people, and Harry knew his grin was not fooling Hermione. However, the young man was rescued by one of his watchers, before Ginny could notice that he was fighting to find something else to say to her. Albus broke in to the conversation with his usual smooth timbre, and observed, "We must rectify that situation now you are out of the hospital wing, Harry. You and Ginny are sadly not unique in your pauper's arrival here, and we have funds in place to furnish the unfortunate with the basics."

"Moody will be glad to have his shoes back," Ron revealed, and with a chuckle, added, "We nearly had to use a separating charm to get him to part with them."

Harry laughed politely in response, and hid his lack of enthusiasm for the joke behind his goblet. Ginny was still in high spirits, and Harry was rather glad of that as she inadvertently covered his gradually lessening wish for conversation. The fiery young woman went straight after her brother as she announced, "You can't talk, Ron Weasley, what about the time you had to lend George your second-best tie, you didn't stop grumbling for a week after he gave it back."

"I was seven!" Ron threw himself back in his chair in comic disbelief, much to the delight of his wife and sister. "And anyway, George put late-appearing ink all over it so I got the blame when the stain finally came out!"

The silent Auror couldn't help laughing at that tale, as his sense of humour caught him by surprise.

"At least the twins didn't put hiccup powder in your cocoa for three weeks straight," Ginny pouted, and rose to the growing laughter in her audience with, "Mum thought I had the beginnings of a magic allergy, they didn't sit down for a week when she found out."

"Hmm, Mum could be vicious with those hot-seat jinxes," Ron looked contemplative, but also comically uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat.

Harry found himself looking at Hermione, and he knew they were sharing the same bemused guesses at what a 'hot-seat jinx' actually was. There was a giggle waiting behind his old friend's eyes, and as their Muggle upbringings fell simultaneously short, the pair shared the moment. Fun won over the petulance that Harry had been building, and, with a grin, he raised his glass towards Hermione, and then asked, "Ron, do we want to know the details of this jinx?"

The young man sat back and let the resultant raucous explanation wash over him.

* * *

The dinner continued with the same light-hearted feel until the cheese course. Harry knew he was still being watched, but he satisfied him indignation with some watching of his own. It was clear they were all in need of some relief from the strains of the world. Hermione looked tired, that was except when she was talking about the twins, when her eyes lit up and all fatigue dropped away; Harry made sure he kept interjecting questions about the girls he would loved to have been able to meet, and was rewarded with a photo presented to him by a proud father, which he slipped into his pocket with reverence. In between jokes, and parental delight, Ron was doting on his wife. After the awkward days of their youthful romance, that had been so stop-start at some points that their friends had wondered if they would ever get together, Mr and Mrs Weasley were now a very tactile couple, and Harry observed the brushes of fingers and secret, loving looks with a sense of contentment, and, for the first time, sympathy, as they inspired thoughts of Draco.

Ginny was bubbling over with conversation, a little too excited, if the strain around her eyes was not something Harry was imagining. Yet, whatever ghosts remained of the Imperius Curse, she was handling them well, and the mixture of reminiscences and new talk of the Burrow were holding them in check for that evening. Albus sat at the end of the table with Minerva to his right and Ginny to his left, remaining largely silent, or as he put it when challenged by Ron, that he was 'leaving the repartee to those better skilled in the art'. However, his gaze was not always heavy, and the humour around his eyes at the free-flowing jokes gave Harry some hope that the meal was not just an excuse for scrutiny. Minerva too, did not provide much conversation, but her mentee recognised her shoulders relaxing slowly through the length of the dinner, and there was a genuine smile on her face as she listened to Ginny talk about a letter from her mother.

"...and I couldn't believe it when she told me George and Fred were both married," the girl gasped. "I mean, whoever would want to marry that pair of reprobates?"

"Two very tolerant, lovely young sisters," Minerva returned smoothly, her eyes flashing with humour, despite the honest sentiment. "I do believe their father, who was negotiating with the twins for European rights on their inventions at the time, thought he would use his daughters' blond hair and blue eyes as distractions, but found himself rather distracted when there were very swift conversations about wedding bells."

"Some of us take our time over these things," Hermione observed, slipping her hand into her husband's, "and others of us jump in with both feet." The young woman passed a glance at Harry, her smile loaded with the knowledge he assumed Ron had delivered, but then the look was gone as her private point was made, and she added, "I don't think Herr Grunweld knew what had hit him. He came looking for a simple licensing contract and gained two sons-in-law, plus I might add, two new business partners (those boys don't miss a trick)."

"Not sure where Bill and those two got their business sense, certainly wasn't from Dad," Ron raised an eyebrow and was rewarded with laughter.

Harry chuckled along with everyone else, but some of his smile went inward, aimed at warm thoughts of Draco. Hermione had seemed pleased by the news, that gave him hope that Ron might eventually be brought round. A lull fell in the conversation as everyone reached for their drinks, or tried to manage another mouthful of the delicious cheese which had been provided by their hosts. One of Harry's hands did pick up his goblet, but the other drifted to his neck, running over the collar as he recalled the intoxicating kisses his lover had placed there that morning. The wine cup hid his smile, but Harry's restless fingers did not go unnoticed.

"Is that collar causing you discomfort, Harry?" Albus drew all attention very efficiently back to the present.

Harry sat up, caught by surprise by the sudden change in direction, and his goblet slammed back onto the table. The old man seemed as serene as ever sat in his position of authority at the end of the table, but even Minerva seemed somewhat startled by his interjection.

"No," the young Auror returned quietly, suddenly subdued, "I don't really notice it most of the time."

"Even so, we have been sorely lacking in our attempts to remove it," the Headmaster continued. "Since we are afforded the extra expertise of Hermione tomorrow, I would suggest that we arrange a time in order to try."

Harry just nodded as his thoughts tried to rearrange themselves back into a serious shape.

* * *

Harry's fingers clung to the edge of the desk on which he was sitting, trying desperately to distract himself from the fact that Professor Severus Snape had a wand aimed at his neck, with thoughts of the second night he had just spent with his lover. The young man wasn't sure if Poppy and Neville had had some kind of conference about himself and Draco, but the younger healer had not seemed surprised when his old school friend had turned up at his door after lights out, and he had not taken too much cajoling to allow another tryst. In fact, Harry dwelt on the promises of good behaviour that the man had extracted as his price, as he tried to ignore the hawkish gaze of his ex-potions professor. Draco was certainly a changed patient, obedient, charming, if occasionally impishly playful with his healers, and Harry wondered how long it was going to take the younger Malfoy to win them over completely, as he had done with his first target. Draco was still every inch the Slytherin, but Poppy Pomfrey and Neville Longbottom had their own brand of cunning, which Harry was considering might include himself.

The young man was broken out of his musings by a puff of smoke under his chin and a small charge of electricity running down his spine. He started, and stared hard at a dissatisfied sneer on Snape's face.

"That was the last low-level removal spell I know," the man admitted, regarding both collar and wearer with equal distaste. "Short of blowing the offending item off Potter's neck, which would have unfortunate," his eyes flashed and the corners of his mouth twitched with the idea, "consequences, I have nothing further to offer."

Then the man spun on his heel and stalked the length of the classroom, obviously still contemplating the problem, despite the lack of solutions that the last hour had produced. Harry glanced across at his more comfortable allies, Albus and Hermione, still feeling a little like the inconvenience that Severus had been trying to insinuate he was since the removal attempts had begun.

"It is indeed a very powerful spell," Dumbledore agreed, his face pensive as defeat loomed.

"It has layers and layers," Hermione agreed. "The complexity is incredible."

"Why on earth did they bother? I didn't even have a wand to try and get it off," Harry grumbled.

"I think it was designed more for the wizard who created the spell than you, Harry," Albus suggested. "I am afraid that I am coming to the conclusion that a powerful wizard locked this spell himself with a very final charm. I have only read of such bonds, but they may only be broken by the one who created them, or by death."

"Well it wasn't Voldemort," Harry retorted, angry at the thought of being stuck with the collar for life, "Villainous put the collar on, and he certainly didn't show any signs of being a powerful wizard, he didn't even carry a wand that I saw."

"On the contrary, My Boy, this is a very personal spell, and no-one but the maker could have sealed the lock."

"He hid it well, he tended to use his fists, not spells," Villainous' victim stifled a chill which accompanied his words.

"Could the man have been some kind of conduit?" Snape threw from his retreat at the back of the room.

"Oh, oh," suddenly came out of Hermione's mouth, and she was caught somewhere between excitement and horror as ideas fired behind her eyes. "Harry, Voldemort was never there in the room with you, was he?"

The man shook his head and replied, "He viewed things through the wall portal."

"No he didn't," the young woman's frown won over the victory of conclusion as she turned to the blackboard, and waved her wand. The letters 'VILLAINOUS' appeared on the wall, and she glanced apologetically at her friend before she cast again, and the letters rearranged themselves to, 'A V ILLUSION'.

"Bastard!" Harry spat in the instant knowledge that his literate companion was correct; a thousand small moments between Lucius and his _subordinate_ now made sense. Malfoy's instant response to the gaoler's interruptions. Odd submissions to torture suggestions. All the nuances came together and the young man felt used all over again. "Wasn't he already playing enough games?"

Severus began to laugh.

His cheeks burning at the humiliation he was already feeling, and the new mockery from the cruel professor, Harry glared at Snape. Yet the man was not looking at him, and there was a triumph in his eyes as he announced, "That man has made his best mistake with you yet, Potter. His blind spot when it comes to you has given us something that we have been trying to discover since this war began. Where he's been hiding all along."

"Hogwarts," came from all four mouths at the same time.

* * *

It was turning out to be a really good day. They may not have succeeded in removing his collar, but the new information the attempt had produced had sent Harry's comrades dashing off to arrange meetings and discuss its ramifications. He had let them go with a vague sadness that he couldn't go with them, but such success was not a time for dwelling on what had to be for now. Instead, his own limited area of responsibility was given a boost by Albus' rather hurried permission to begin more intense practice sessions with Draco before the old man, too, had disappeared on his own errands. So it was that Harry headed back towards the medibay, his piles of notes under one arm and an unexpected excitement to his progress. However, when he popped his head around Poppy's door to announce his plans, he was told, "Draco currently has another visitor."

"Who?" the young man asked, surprised by the news.

"Ginny Weasley," Poppy informed him, which made Harry's eyebrows hit his hairline; the girl may have expressed an interest in Draco's recovery, but Harry had not expected her to take such a personal interest.

"May I go along too?" he asked while musing his friend's chosen course of action.

"Certainly, Mr Potter, Ginny may be an appropriate chaperone," the healer teased, her face serious, but her eyes twinkling.

Harry grinned, glad that his comrade was relaxed enough to jibe at him rather than worry. With a wave, he disappeared across the medibay almost certain that she and Neville had been plotting. When he got to Draco's room, he was greeted with a scene through the window that surprised him even further. Draco and Ginny were both lounging on respective ends of the bed, chatting like a pair of very old friends. He was almost reluctant to knock on the door and disturb the freedom in their faces, but a tinge of jealousy got the better of him, and he answered the urge to join in.

"Harry," Draco greeted as his lover closed the door, "Ginny and I were just talking about you."

"Oh good," the young man returned dryly, "neither of you needed any more ammunition."

"It wasn't bad," Ginny reassured, but then he saw Draco's bad influence as she grinned and added, "well not all of it. I was telling Draco about the time you and Ron bravely stood up to Fred and George to defend my honour after they turned my hair white with that joke shampoo."

"Yes, and I'm still waiting to find out what happened," Draco pouted, and then patted the bed beside him and ordered, "so sit down and I'll ask you what you have under your arm when Ginny has finished her story."

Harry rolled his eyes, wondering if he really wanted Draco to know, but sunk down next to his lover anyway and accepted an arm over his shoulders. Ginny grinned at both of them, and then launched again, "Well, they were doing rather well, George and Fred were backed up against the big tree in the garden by the brandishing of a dragon-headed walking stick breathing real fire, and some well-laid punches, but then we realised that that was where they were stashing the rest of the barrel of shampoo, and they dumped the lot straight over poor Ron and Harry. All three of us had white hair for three days till it wore off, we thought we might have to go back to school like it."

"But we got the twins back two days later with their own hair-growing chewing gum," Harry laughed, remembering the holiday antics with fondness; even successful teenage businessmen could play like children again when in the safety of their family home. It had been a welcome diversion from all the talks of war that had been brewing at the time.

"You must have been of age by then," Draco joined in, "why didn't you just hex them?"

"That wouldn't have been half as much fun!" Harry leant back into his partner with a laugh.

"Gryffindors have a strange idea of fun," the blond man bemoaned.

"Or Slytherins are just far too one-tracked when it comes to revenge," Ginny teased.

"Oh no!" Draco launched back, leaning around Harry and wagging his finger, "we just have more finesse. There is a very personal satisfaction to revenge when your opponent knows you did it, is absolutely certain, but can't work out how or prove a thing."

Ginny and Harry shared a look, and then as one, they despaired, "Slytherins!"

Their companion seemed to take this as a compliment, and puffed himself up with a proud tip of his chin. Ginny giggled at the aloof pose and Draco played to her with the most disdainful of sniffs and the arch of an eyebrow. Harry saw the joke, but something inside didn't like even the jestful pretence of indifference as his experiences at the sharp end of the real version of the attitude niggled. He challenged the feelings as he stroked his fingers lightly over where they had naturally come to rest at the base of his lover's spine when he had settled close to him. Draco tried not to wriggle, but a second stroke succeeded in an almost imperceptible movement and a third gained a definite shift towards it. Harry gave his companion a satisfied little grin as the blond man softened and hung off the arm that was still draped around Harry's shoulders.

"Gryffindor spirit beats Slytherin guile every time," Ginny quipped, and Harry felt his cheeks heat a little as he realised how free he was being with his affections in public.

"This time," Draco countered, quite unabashed as he winked at his female visitor.

"Time!" something snapped in Ginny's memory, and she glanced at her watch, suddenly flustered, "I'm late. I'm sorry, I have to run, I have a lunch date -- seven minutes ago."

"Another one, who with this time?" Harry asked as the young woman scrambled off the bed.

"Dean Thomas," the youngest Weasley told him, and then he saw a little colour come to her cheeks as she admitted with a secret smile, "again."

The other Gryffindor grinned back at his companion and encouraged, "Get going then." Ginny and Dean has not been an item since a rather spectacular bust up in her sixth year at Hogwarts when the young man had made a joke over a spectacular miss Ginny had made in a Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. The girl had still been very sensitive about the move, which some of their house had claimed (unfairly) had lost them the game, and the argument, which everyone had hoped would blow over had turned into a minor feud, thanks to the Weasley stubbornness and the Thomas pride. A suggestion that things might be kindling between the couple again made Harry glad.

* * *

Once Ginny had left the room, Harry felt his lover's hold around his shoulders tighten, and Draco rubbed against him as he offered, "It'll be interesting if she dumps trifle over his head like she did in the Great Hall after their fight. That provided jibes for weeks."

"That didn't help us trying to get them back together," Harry growled, but without much venom, it was a long time ago.

"No," Draco agreed with a grin, but then straightened, and his eyes went to the window from which the redhead had waved goodbye as he added, "and now I wish her all happiness with him. She has been wronged horribly and yet she had the bravery and generosity to visit someone who was part of that."

"Bravery?" the opinion caught Harry by surprise, and he turned more fully to his companion to gauge his mood.

Draco looked back, honest admiration in his gaze, before he replied, "Bravery -- Ginny and I did not have much to do with each other. I think we only saw each other at ceremonies, but I was never in the best of moods when we met. She caught the harsher side of my tongue more than once, and there was one time that we were alone, only for a few minutes, but I set out to scare her as badly as I could."

Harry frowned at the guilt he recognised in his lover, and he shifted as ideas of Draco's games sprang to mind. Whether the blond saw his disquiet and answered it, or provided more information to satisfy himself, he explained anyway, "I was half-drunk, another rebellion attempt, I had wanted to be too inebriated to perform for the Dark Lord, but Crabbe had caught me a third of the way through the bottle. I was angry when he left me in the cursed-mouse's charge to warn Lucius of the state I was in. I tried verbal intimidation for a while, and then I moved on to physical. She was torn between trying to keep me presentable for the ceremony and fighting me off, but I was, thankfully, too far gone for anything anyway. She shoved me into a seat and I just laughed at her."

The Auror turned away from his companion, torn by the contrast between the man he now knew and the violent, hurtful creature that had protected Draco from the hopelessness of his life at Hogwarts.

"I would only have scared her," Draco continued, a defensive note to his voice.

"That's all she would have allowed you to do," Harry mentally kicked himself, he was not about to get depressed, and found his refuge in the knowledge of his old friend's strengths.

"Ms Weasley certainly has the assets of her family."

"A Malfoy admiring a Weasley?"

The lovers watched each other for a moment, both smiling for their own reasons. Draco eventually shrugged and observed dryly, "Know thine enemy."

"So you spotted the stubborn streak a mile wide as well then," Harry quipped and then caught up with the steps his brain was taking to have come up with the comment; Ron had not been openly hostile at dinner, but he had not met his best friend's eye line unless by accident all evening, and he had not accompanied his wife to the collar removal attempt either.

"This isn't about Ginny anymore, is it?" Draco was nothing if he wasn't perceptive.

Harry made a face, he didn't want to start talking about the problems he was having with his stalwart comrade. However, his present companion did not back off, and apologised, "I'm sorry, Harry, I can't offer much advice. I never had a best mate like Ron, I had minions."

"Sometimes, minions are easier," the Auror responded with a sigh.

"I didn't feel anything when Goyle was killed," Draco sounded vaguely wistful as he spoke of the famous assassination attempt that had been made on the Dark Prince just after Voldemort's unhappy victory. "In fact, I tried so hard to put myself in the way of the Resistance's wands that I was the reason he was hit."

"You could hardly be blamed for lack of sympathy when one of your gaolers died."

"It wasn't always like that, I could have called them friends, but I cultivated lackeys instead, lackeys who turned on me when someone stronger showed their hands, just like good Death Eaters," came out of Draco's mouth with such self-resentment that it put the brakes on any melancholy which the conversation inspired in Harry.

"That's it," he announced loudly, grabbing the papers he had dropped onto the bed on arrival, "we can sit here and get moody about the past, or we can do something about the present."

Draco laughed as he was knocked out of the moment, and covered the pain in his eyes by the short sound. Harry softened again instantly, but was still unwilling to slip back into the downward spiral, so, with a comforting smile, he leant in close and tried to banish the leftover emotions with, "Alright, I s'pose Ginny told you that she and I have been doing some research."

"That's where we started, that and the plant," his lover answered, waving at the bedside table. Harry glanced over at a small, rather stringy-looking shrub, but then he heard the warm effect of the sentiment behind it in Draco's voice as he added, "To brighten the place up."

Harry's smile deepened.

"So, this research?" Draco prompted, draping himself further over his partner to get a view of the parchments.

"Some of it Ginny saw, some of it she didn't," Harry returned, his tone heavy with innuendo. "So there are two sorts of exercises, those we can use in company and those we can't."

"That sounds interesting," his lover drooled.

"Now is for public practice," the Auror lamented, "I got the go ahead from Dumbledore this morning, and Poppy will object if we use the time for snogging, even if I tell her it is practice."

"I'm getting fed up of having to be good," the blond man pouted, and his eyes flashed suggestively.

"Concentrate," Harry chided, rustling the pile of paper.

"But I want to be bad," Draco complained petulantly, his fingers playing over his lover's collarbone.

"You can be bad this evening," Harry cajoled, recognising the wild streak in his partner coming to the fore.

The young man gripped his parchment in defence of his resolve; Draco would not get the better of him this time, he knew they were on to too much of a good thing with Poppy's current tolerance. His companion tried the usually effective whisper of breath over Harry's ear, but was rewarded only by his lover standing up and turning on him.

"Draco, you're a self-indulgent animal," Harry accused.

The Auror glared at his partner, hands on hips, but was given an unrepentant grin. It was difficult to stand off from the cheeky smile, but Harry bit his tongue and maintained his stare. Draco wasn't used to backing down, and the distaste in his eyes gave his companion a little satisfaction to make up for the pang of regret he was feeling.

"Better," Harry condescended, "now, are you going to listen?"

Draco pouted again.  



	40. An Old Fart's Solution to Recklessness

Hermione had managed to stay a couple of days, but now it was time for her to leave, and Harry stood with his friend wondering where the time had gone. He'd wanted to have a long talk, catch up properly and also discus the new situation. Yet there hadn't been enough hours in the day. The young woman had been in demand since her arrival, mainly in meetings from which Harry had been excluded, and there had been no time to speak alone. Now they were facing each other, at last alone, but with only a few minutes to share, and Harry saw the regret he was feeling echoed in his companion.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to spend longer together," Hermione worded their feelings.

"Next time," Harry made the promise to himself as well as to his friend.

"And in the mean time, talk to my husband," the young woman smiled and patted Harry's arm. "We had a long chat last night, and, well, I think he has things to say to you."

Hermione looked away then, trouble in her face, and her old friend felt a tremor run through his body.

"Won't you tell me?" Harry asked, his anxiety growing as the young woman turned her back, and she began to fiddle with her hair.

"I'm sorry, it has to be from him," she answered, pulling her lovely long curls back from her face, drawing them up into the harsh bun that marked her transition back to Voldemort's world. "I have to get back."

"What's the matter, Hermione?" her comrade requested, needing a reply.

However, he was ignored. Instead, Hermione reached for her purple and black robes and began examining them carefully, as if her life would depend on a small spot of dirt. Harry just watched dumbly as one of his closest friends busied herself with forgetting his presence. It was as if the young woman was shirking off the underworld and putting on the face that belonged to the pretence above. There was pain in her soft features, and effort behind the mask which she was assembling. That grief kept her observer quiet, his heart tearing. Hermione drew the hard-wearing fabric up over her shirt, obscuring the soft green with its harsh Death Eater colours. As she did so, her teeth gritted and Harry reached his limit.

"Don't go," he begged, the sound bursting out of his throat.

Hermione's hand was on the side of his face almost instantly, and she came close, her hurt obvious as her face was placed inches from his own. Her eyes glistened with water, and the woman's breath ran over his face.

"Harry, I-," his companion struggled with her emotion.

Then there was a kiss on his other cheek, heavy and maintained. Hermione was trembling. Harry tensed, unsure what to do, this didn't feel right. A simple peck on the cheek was all he had ever received from his long-time friend, and the touch held qualities she had never shown before. The young man was statuesque when lips met his own. It was wrong, the press of warm skin over his mouth sent shivers down his spine, but his resistance was frozen in shock. Reality slipped sideways as hands rubbed over his shoulders, and then Harry was shown his sudden seducer once more. He frowned. The face no longer belonged to Hermione, it was Draco.

"Good trick, isn't it?" the blond man grinned at his joke, and relief flooded through Harry.

"Bastard," the Auror charged, but ran his palms up around his partner's body none-the-less.

Draco chuckled, and leant in for another kiss. This time, Harry responded warmly, the strangeness of the moment drifting away with the passion that his newly revealed companion aroused effortlessly. He let himself be pushed backwards as the caress deepened, and landed on the desk behind. Harry felt the wooden surface expand beneath him as Draco decided that recumbent was how he wanted his lover. He pressed up into the body which was now fully on top of him, and enjoyed the deep groan that came from his partner. A quick kick spread Harry's legs wide, and then Draco pushed down on him, pinning his torso to the table. Thrills ran up and down the trapped man's body.

The kiss moved from his mouth to his neck, as Draco played the familiar game over the leather there, and Harry moaned. His lover laughed once more as his companion stretched under him. He grabbed the hands which had been wound into his blond hair, and pressed them back onto the table. Harry growled a complaint, he didn't want a repeat of the succubus' trap. However, the laugh just grew stronger, and he fell right into the snare. The prisoner stiffened as he was unable to lift his arms away from the rough wood. He spoke as evenly as he could manage and protested, "Draco, not again."

"Yes again," his partner's voice taunted, and Harry recoiled at the expression which was revealed as the man drew back once more.

The sneer, which twisted Draco's sharp features, told his lover that this was not the man he had fallen in love with, this was the shell that had mocked him before their union. Harry struggled, but the ropes on his wrists and ankles held him down, and his naked body goose-bumped against the tackily-smooth touch of Draco's leather trousers.

"What's the matter, Potter? Don't like my face?" his captor ridiculed, running his hands wherever he liked over his helpless victim. "Maybe you'd prefer this one?"

Breath came tight from the prisoner's chest as he watched a transformation take place that was made more horrible by the very few subtle changes it took to make a son into his father. The striking blond hair lengthened, the nose sharpened, the eyes held the vaguest of difference in shade, and the lips bent further into Lucius' own brand of scorn, but Harry could still see both his tormentors in the triumphant snarl. The young man gasped in pain as his hair was grabbed and his head was slammed back onto the table, and confusion overwhelmed his fight. He shifted weakly, and was taunted with, "Where's all that wonderful Gryffindor spirit?"

Harry just groaned as the world span in front of his eyes. He couldn't hold on to the nasty visage above him as stars danced across his vision.

"Maybe I'll get you to show me, eh Pup?" Villainous' gruff tones replaced the clipped presence of his master's.

This time the captive did answer his tormentor. Loudly, but wordlessly he objected to the stinking falsehood above him. Now he knew, now he recognised the trickery which hid his ultimate enemy from him, and he writhed under the heavy touch. Villainous laughed, releasing the snarling head and kneeling back.

"You show me!" Harry found his reason, and bit off his words with the hatred he was feeling.

The thick-set gaoler continued to laugh, his face tipped back into a stream of purple light which lit up his features with horrific shadows. The strange iridescence paled his filthy complexion, and the shadows lengthened his heavy face, stretching it out, shifting it before his splayed observer. Harry froze as he watched the transformation he had requested. Now he didn't want this. He couldn't face the creature who lay behind the deception, not like this, not helpless. Yet he was presented with that very man.

"No," escaped the prisoner's lips as he stared up at the figure who had orchestrated all the pain in his life.

"Hello, Harry, are you going to entertain me?" the red-eyed, thin-lipped ghoul taunted, and with a flourish, produced his wand.

"No," Harry repeated, horror and hatred building as one. "Get away."

Another scornful chuckle told the trapped man just how effective his verbal rejection had been, so he twisted and bucked, desperate to remove the skeletal monster before he cast. Fingers dug almost instantly into his shoulder, as his tormentor steadied himself against the resistance. Harry growled.

"Harry," Voldemort condescended, but even as he said it his voice was changing. "Harry, wake up," Draco urged, his hand shaking his lover's shoulder more forcefully this time.

Harry came gratefully out of sleep with his companion leaning protectively over his foetally curled form. He blinked and tried to relax by letting out a long breath. Draco waited until the cleansing attempt was finished, holding close, but not saying anything. Harry shifted more definitely as he pushed away the last vestiges of the nightmare, and his partner asked with a tired sympathy, "What was it this time."

"Changing faces again," the young man sighed, silently wishing that the peace of their first night together could have been maintained.

Draco rested his cheek on Harry's shoulder and rubbed his hand comfortingly over his partner's chest as he observed, "That's three times in two nights, this Villainous thing is really bothering you."

"Maybe I just don't like being tricked like that," Harry answered, but didn't really want to analyse the dream; instead, he rolled onto his back and enjoyed the warm stroking which was relaxing him away from the disturbance more effectively than any amount of talking. Both he and Draco suffered from nightmares, and like everything else about each other, they were working out how to deal with them together. Neither man could stop their heart-racing, emotional subconscious minds, but the discomforting fallout from them was dramatically lessened by the innate understanding of another.

"Are you going to be able to sleep again?" Draco changed tack as he recognised the dismissive manner in his partner. "It's still early, but I'm sure we can amuse ourselves till a sensible hour."

Harry laughed, but didn't object as the fingers running over his chest were joined by lips. Sleep was something he was becoming accustomed to having in snatches, and the distraction was a whole lot better than brooding.

[Time for a little private practice,] he mused to himself, and then spoke out loud, "Focus your magic, Draco."

The young man then let out a gasp as his command was obeyed with a speed and dexterity which surprised him. Draco was learning quickly, especially with his partner's unique and very personal forms of training. As his body woke up to the titillation of an unspoken feather-touch charm, Harry had time to hope that all this practice was going to be as useful in the public world as their private one before the attentions made a lustful mess of his thoughts.

* * *

Harry knew he had a big stupid grin plastered across his face, but he didn't care; it was early, only house elves to startle, and Draco had given him a practice to remember. What was more, Neville hadn't grouched once about how many rules they were breaking when he had, eventually, answered the summoning bell. A lack of plans for the day didn't seem to matter, and the young man concentrated on running back over the intense caress that his lover's magic had created. It was thus that he didn't actually notice Albus Dumbledore until he was nearly on top of him. Harry came to a smart halt as his absent gaze finally caught the swish of the old man's robes, and he slowly looked up, trying to drop the lust from his thoughts. The professor was smiling calmly as his ex-pupil finally met his eyes, and greeted cordially, "Good morning, Harry."

"Albus," the Auror replied, feeling inexplicably like he'd been caught out of bounds.

"This is an early hour, My Boy," the elder observed chattily, his gaze as steady as a rock. "My old bones only afford me a few hours sleep, but what gives you cause to be wandering around at such a time?"

Harry regarded his mentor for a while and realised something -- when you really knew Albus Dumbledore, he was not good at deception. The young man wasn't sure whether to be irked or just plain awkward; he hadn't spoken to his old friend about his relationship with Draco since the interrogation, they seemed to have glossed over it with all the polite ignorance that British men can create. Yet now, he could see the knowledge in Albus' eyes and the mixture of signals had caught him by surprise. He chose to be irked.

"Was it Neville, Remus or Poppy?" he asked directly.

Dumbledore's chin rose slightly as he recognised the challenge, and he crossed his hands in front of him as he had done many times at school when there was something serious to be said.

"I have spoken to all three," the headmaster disclosed with authoritative calm, "and each is concerned for your behaviour in their own way."

"Let me guess," Harry did not reign in his temper as his good mood evaporated in defence; "Neville was worried about the rules; Poppy is concerned for my mental health if this all goes wrong; Remus thinks it's dangerous because of people's opinions of Draco. And it has you so worried to bring you into my path this morning, Albus?"

"I must listen when my friends and colleagues express concern, Harry," the old man was not about to back down, or even ruffle at the edge in his comrade's tone.

"I'm not at school anymore. I don't have to answer to any fraternisation rules," the Auror was ready for the same kind of fight he had put up when faced with the inquisition.

"No," his mentor returned, his serene demeanour slipping for a moment as his eyes flashed their concern, "but I would hope that you may still seek and accept the advice of your friends. Neville is quite correct in his thoughts for 'the rules'. You are an Auror, you must consider your position. You have also very recently been through enough trauma to place the strongest man in St Mungos, for which Poppy is duly concerned. However, I will acknowledge your relationship with Draco is currently a benefit, although possibly a threat to your state of health. And Remus has every right to worry over your safety. Each person has his or her own reason for standing on our side, and some would not take kindly to your fraternisation with Draco."

Dumbledore did not show the same kind of intensity when he delivered a telling-off, but his method was just as effective as either Poppy's or Minerva's, and Harry stared at him dumbly for a few moments. The self-assured figure just looked back, his piece said, and his mask back in place. What he had said made perfect sense, but it still niggled, and quietly, but surely, the young man countered, "I appreciate that you all think you know what's best for me." Albus raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. "But I won't give him up."

There was no further argument; Harry could see some unease remaining in his companion's face, but the old man did not word it. Instead, he nodded his head, and Harry knew his position had been accepted.

"As you wish, My Boy," Dumbledore agreed, and then surprised his friend, who had been expecting to be given a dissatisfied dismissal, as he continued, "However, these midnight trysts cannot continue indefinitely, people will notice, and there will be objections." Harry would have objected himself, but he was held back by a contemplative look in his friend's face and the admission, "I may have a solution, if you would care to meet with me in Draco's quarters at, shall we say, ten o'clock?"

"Thank you," the young man returned slowly, unsure if Albus was happy about his 'solution', or not.

"Very well, until then," the professor nodded cordially, and then moved swiftly on about his business, leaving Harry wondering if the meeting had been a good thing.

* * *

For the second time in a few days, Harry discovered his lover in conversation with one of his friends when he arrived outside the isolation room at the allotted time. Draco did not look as easy with Dumbledore as he had done chatting with Ginny, but there was a charming smile on his face, and the old man was not showing any disapproval. Harry knocked and went in. Both men stood to greet the new arrival, Albus out of age-old habit and Draco clearly because he was on his best behaviour. However, it was only by inference of knowing his partner that Harry recognised some uncertainty in the blond's manner, as his eyes skipped from wizard to wizard; that smile was firmly in place as his Slytherin brain sought the answers to his esteemed guest's visit.

"Harry, thank you for coming," Dumbledore began, asserting his command with polite efficiency.

"Albus, Draco," Harry returned, equally as formally, aware that maybe now was a good time for his Auror persona.

"Please sit, and I shall reveal my reasons for asking you here," the professor offered, and quite deliberately produced two chairs, a good few feet apart, a little way in front of the one he had already created for himself.

Harry glanced at his lover and saw the recognition of the formality in his stance. Yet, he was given a twitch of a smile before Draco moved to take the space allotted to him. It felt peculiarly like he was stuck between man and boy as, once more, Harry sat down before his headmaster. Albus was watching him closely as his attention came to rest on the composed old man, but his gaze moved self-confidently onto Draco before Harry settled completely.

"Well," Dumbledore began, "I am sure you at least suspect why I am here, Mr Malfoy."

"Yes, Sir," Draco answered smoothly.

"I cannot allow this recklessness to continue," the professor intoned, and at that moment, Harry knew he was back at school; he didn't like it. However, then the similarity ended. "I have been considering this problem, in conjunction with another, which is our treatment of you, Mr Malfoy. You are, I may say, showing remarkable tolerance with our cautious approach to decision making -- an attitude, I have been informed, we owe partially to Harry's influence."

"Harry made sense when he suggested that a little give and take was in order," Draco responded like any good diplomat, the smile on his lips beguiling the careful statement of the current status quo.

"Quite," Albus knew a veiled threat when he heard one and offered his own political turn of lip. "I stand by my word that you will be given a fair hearing, but a little more patience will be required until we are prepared."

The blond head was merely nodded in recognition of the promise.

"Until that time, I, and my fellows, believe that it would be unreasonable to have you remain confined."

That did draw a small start from Draco, and his eyes widened momentarily. Albus' smile deepened at his success, and Harry watched the interplay with a slightly lighter heart.

"You must understand that complete liberty is also beyond reason," the master of tact continued, and was given a quick nod of badly concealed excitement from his subject. "However, I have been working on an intermediary solution, which also involves you, Harry."

Harry was as intrigued as his lover, and they shared a glance of surprised hope, which seemed to please their companion.

"I conversed with my colleagues yesterday, and gained their support for the use of suppression bracelets," Albus finally revealed and the light dawned. Suppression bracelets were used by Aurors sometimes when transporting innately magic-using prisoners; they stopped the prisoner from focusing their magic and also restricted their area of movement to a particular radius from their guard. It was obvious who was to be wearing the prisoner's band, and who the guard's, but Dumbledore explained anyway, "Mr Malfoy, if you would agree to be bound by the suppression bracelet when moving around the complex, and if, Harry, you would agree to take responsibility for Mr Malfoy's movements by wearing its pair, then we believe if would be appropriate for you to be given the freedom of Hogwarts Tutus."

Draco was sat very still, watching his ex-headmaster intently. Harry stayed silent, seeing the consideration in the young face, and patience was answered when the warning came, "I am considerably more powerful than many prisoners, Sir."

Albus nodded, and Harry thought he saw admiration in the old eyes as he replied, "Thank you for your frankness, Mr Malfoy, but I have taken this factor into account. The bracelets have been adapted by myself and Professor McGonagall to a level which we deem acceptable."

The young Malfoy accepted the response, and then turned to his lover.

"I'll do it," Harry answered both Albus' spoken question, and Draco's unspoken one without any need for consideration.

"Excellent, then I have only two more pieces of information to impart," Dumbledore looked very pleased with himself. "The first is that, since you are no longer ill, Mr Malfoy, you do not have need of this room. However, placing you in the residential quarter would probably instigate a riot. Therefore, I have taken the liberty of preparing a room for you, and your guard," the old man smiled at Harry, who had the decency to feel his face go red, "in a more private section of the complex. This brings me to my second point, which is, that, the success of these new arrangements rest upon your proficiency with your magic. However heavily warded your new room, we have all been witness to your ability to break such protections. Madame Pomfrey has informed me that you have succeeded in maintaining your control for the last twenty four hours, and I do not believe any of us expect perfection from you, but before a timescale can be finalised for your transferral, I and my colleagues request a demonstration of how well your control is coming along."

"When would be a suitable time?" Draco asked, his tone superficially calm, but a note of frustrated excitement underlining the shallowness of his composure.

"After lunch?" Albus asked, and was given an immediate nod. "Well then, thank you, Gentlemen," Dumbledore stood slowly, and was mirrored by his subordinates, "until this afternoon." The man tipped his head in cordial dismissal, and then headed towards the door. However, he paused at the exit and turned back to his mentee and added, "Oh, and Harry, I think it would be best for you to wear everyday duty robes from now on, in the event that anyone should be in doubt of your position."

"Yes, Albus," Harry replied, and watched his mentor leave while still trying to take in everything that had been said. As everything clicked into place, he spun on his heel. Draco was staring at him, the delight bubbling under the surface of leftover shock. His mouth twitched, and he offered, "He can be a surprising old fart, can't he?"


	41. Murderers!

Draco opened his eyes and frowned; Harry watched him carefully, his instincts were confused on this one, as it appeared were Draco's as he watched the mist of manifestation form. The young wizard glanced at their viewers at the window, concerned that manifestation might not have been the most sensible of choices for a demonstration, it being probably the most powerful technique they had been practising. However, the Auror had had to accept the fact that Draco was right when he pointed out that it was also their most successful, and that Albus Dumbledore would expect no less. The ancient wizard himself, was showing, on the surface, no more than an observer's interest, but Harry wondered if he was holding his wand below the level of the window given how intrigued he seemed. Amelia and Minerva were wearing very similar, professional, detached faces, but his second mentor was not as good at hiding her concern behind the mask as Madame Bones, and her eyes were giving her away. Harry didn't have time to assess the others, a mixture of Resistance and Order members, because Draco's visitor appeared, and the blond man stood up rapidly.

"What is it?" the Auror asked his charge, swapping between the anxious face of his lover and the new arrival.

Beautiful women were not unusual participants to Draco's manifestations, but his reaction put Harry on his guard as he took in a tall, slender figure who was surveying them with a haughty disdain. It wasn't difficult to conclude the woman's species, her skin shone a gentle green under the lights, and the long dress, which covered her from breast to ankle, was made of oak leaves. This was a tree nymph, an Oak Dryad, and she did not seem pleased to be standing before her creator. Draco, himself, was also not happy, but his face showed disquiet and confusion.

"What is it, Draco?"

"I barely remember," came breathily from the blond man, "something bad."

"Then send her away," Harry urged, raising his wand just in case; Draco was now much better at controlling his creations if need be, but the apprehension in his lover made Harry ere on the side of prudence.

"No," Draco surprised him with the definite response; the young Malfoy did not calm completely, but he explained more fully, "she wants to tell me something."

The frown on the sharp features deepened for a moment, but the expression which followed was worse. Pain crossed Draco's face, and he moaned, "Oh god." Harry knew there was nothing he could do, the anguish was remembered, so he bit his tongue and just waited for whatever was coming. "Last Winter Solstice, there were a hundred of them at least, Death Eaters. I was summoned for a ceremony, but not to the Great Hall. They were waiting for me in the court yard, it was freezing, a clear moon and frost. I was, Lucius called it, ritually bound, but those ropes were damn tight just for show."

Harry ground his teeth at the self-loathing he could hear in his lover's voice, but could only watch, as in time with his memory, Draco put his arms out in front, his wrists together. The Dryad was still stood like a statue in front of her creator, only her breathing suggesting that she was any more than a frozen illusion, and her stare was defensive.

"They took me into the Forbidden Forest, four abreast, watching for those centaurs. No one told me what was happening, I didn't ask, it was better not to know. We went straight to her tree, it had been selected earlier, I think. They called to her, threatened to set fire to the tree if she didn't come out, so she came forward."

The sylph figure took one step towards her creator, her expression hostile and angry. She was looking around at non-existent crowds, and Harry admired the strength in her gaze.

"Lucius ordered her to give me the growing magic for the tree for next year. She refused."

Draco dropped his gaze, and the dryad gasped in pain as a large red gash appeared across her torso. Harry took a step back as his own legs went weak at the thought of the curse of which he knew the effects only too well.

"They started casting laceration curses at the tree," Draco murmured, his tone sick with disgust, and he started as more cuts appeared, one by painful one, on the afflicted creature's body. She raised her head high, trembling at each stroke, but after her first cry, she remained silent. "They argued wouldn't it be better for the tree to lose one year's growth than for it to die completely. It was over a thousand years old, she told them, begged them to leave her be, but they kept on until she agreed."

The blond man looked back up at the now shuddering beauty before him, and his eyes were damp.

"She walked up to me," he disclosed, and so did his memory of her; she looked into his gaze, and her stare softened. "I tried to be hard, like always, but she saw straight through me. She took my hands," green fingers wrapped around Draco's memory-bound wrists, rubbing lightly, "and she asked me if I wanted this. I said no."

Both creator and created closed their eyes, and the powerful nature spirit's body began to glow. Draco shook at the remembered power flow, and the dryad's shape began to dissolve. Then, the blond man screamed, "No!" His sound was long and terrible, and he fell to his knees. Harry watched, horrified, but aware he was still helpless. The creature was gone now, only Draco remained, and he curled over himself, rocking, and charged, "Murdering Bastards." His lover could hold back no more and Harry moved in, reaching out to Draco's shoulders and gently uncurling him. The blond man's pale skin held a green tinge as he remained in touch with the dryad's power, and his eyes were tight closed as he confessed, "They killed her. She tried to remove the bindrunes, and they murdered her for it. Lucius poisoned the roots of the tree and left her there to die slowly. Bastards!"

Draco was shaking as he opened his eyes and looked down at his now empty wrists, but it was with rage, not fear. Harry could feel the power running through his companion, wild, natural magic, tamed only by the fury in the trembling body. The blond man shrugged off the Auror's support, and Harry let him go without resistance, something was happening inside, and his sense of the inevitable told him to wait. The unsteady wizard climbed slowly to his feet, watched by his crouching partner, and looked around the room. His focus came to rest on the drooping pot-plant that neither man had managed to stop from slowly dying. Harry stood as his companion walked over to the yellowing vegetation, his instincts being pulled towards the savage magic inside Draco, and then his mouth fell open. Draco's long fingers brushed over the foliage, caressing the leaves with a care he had never shown before, and Harry felt the magic converge on a purpose. The blond man became still, his hands cupped around the plant, just touching the outer leaves, and nature's miracle was given a kick-start. Harry watched as the yellow became green, and the leaves stretched out towards the power they were offered. The withered little plant seemed to wake up under the dryad's touch, and it filled the area between his hands with lush green foliage. Draco wasn't smiling as his work came to an end, but he sighed away what anger he could not contain and swore, "I will avenge you, Ilexa."

Then he stepped away from the plant and the green faded from his skin. Harry stayed at a distance and waited for his lover to turn back to him. There was sickness in the ice-blue eyes that finally met his own, and he wanted to wrap their owner in his arms, but the attentions on them through the window held him to the enquiry, "Are you alright?"

"I shouldn't be," came rushing out of Draco's mouth. "I wanted the chaos she created to kill me too, but they fought for me, dragged me back. I didn't remember, when I woke up they told me I'd caught an infection from Ilexa's power, and I believed them. I witnessed murder, and I just forgot it!"

The door was opened on to the conversation, and Albus Dumbledore filled the entrance, drawing both Harry and Draco's attention without the need to speak. There was sympathy in his eyes as he regarded his prisoner, and he took his time before he did break the tense silence with, "Thank you, Mr Malfoy, for your honest demonstration. I am sorry that it has caused you such distress."

"Not your fault," the young man snapped back, clearly on edge and unable to deal with niceties.

"No. It would appear that your father will have much to answer when he is finally brought to task."

"I don't have a father," Draco turned away from his watchers, still trying to handle his emotions, and Harry stamped on the need to offer comfort only because of the eyes outside that did not know about the relationship.

"I believe we should give you some time to come to terms with this incident before continuing with the events we discussed this morning," Albus spoke kindly, and looked to his Auror for confirmation.

Harry nodded; his lover was in no state to go over any plans at the moment. Draco didn't respond, Harry wasn't even sure he was listening, his eyes were cast down and inward at the past. Dumbledore closed the door, and very swiftly, Harry used his wand to direct the drawing of the curtains. Once in private, the young man crossed instantly to his partner and wrapped his distress in his arms.

* * *

Draco had calmed down by the time Albus and Amelia returned, as representatives of their respective organisations. The young man was subdued as he watched his gaolers enter the room, but his control was well in place as he nodded politely to them. Harry stood back, knowing all was not well, and would probably not be so for a few days, given the impact of Draco's discovery on his psyche, but also recognising that this was the blond wizard's moment, and that he wanted to make a good impression.

"I trust you are feeling better, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore began, shoulder to shoulder with Madame Bones.

"Thank you, Sir, yes. The memory was a terrible shock, but I will deal with it in my own time," Draco replied, no charm in use now, but he sounded sincere.

His quiet words seemed to impress Amelia, who, as usual, was observing her subject closely.

"Do you have any idea why these memories should have come to light at this particular juncture?" the broad woman addressed her thoughts directly.

Draco looked momentarily startled by the challenge to his calm facade, but the consummate player in him brought that visibly under control. Harry ground his teeth, as unsettled by his superior's testing techniques on another as on himself, but then he concluded that the canny female was probably aware of his reactions as well. The young man remained the professional Auror, and watched his prisoner meet the question head on.

"What manifests is generally due to my state of mind at the time," Draco analysed, only a frown giving away that he was uncomfortable with the discussion. "I suppose I wished to show you something, and she wished to tell me what had happened, and so she came out of the lake."

"You make it sound like an independent action on the dryad's part," Amelia challenged.

"My choices of manifestation from the lake are very much subconscious," the young man returned, regarding the woman more carefully. "Which I believe is of benefit to the familiarisation process at which it is aimed. However, Harry and I are working on more conscious forms of training in conjunction with this."

His superior looked over to Harry, and he thought he was about to be asked a question, but Albus stepped in smoothly, saying, "Well, we are pleased to inform you that the demonstration has satisfied your judges for now, Mr Malfoy. If you are both prepared, we may now furnish you with the bracelets."

Harry stepped forward; he'd been trained in the theory of the bracelets, although he had never seen them used, and he knew that the controlling band had to be placed on first to allow the wearer to manage the use of the prisoner's band. Madame Bones held out the cuff to her Auror. It was made of silver-coloured, tubular metal, hinged on one side and clipped on the other. Harry placed his wrist into the open jaws of the bangle and his superior closed it. The wizard felt a small lurch in his gut as the band was clipped shut and the spell settled around him, but he wasn't sure if it was a real reaction from the instinct he was gradually honing, or just wishful thinking.

"Auror Potter, I now charge you with the security and protection of Draco Malfoy," the woman intoned formally.

"I will do my duty," Harry responded with the simple oath.

Amelia nodded to him, and then cast her gaze towards Professor Dumbledore. Harry's attention followed, and the ancient man presented him with the second bracelet. The Auror looked at it in the wrinkled old palm for a moment, taking in its simple, but effective design, both aesthetically and magically. It was almost identical to the one he now wore, only it was a golden colour to denote it from its master, and Harry was sure he could feel the magic coming from this one. Albus had indeed increased its efficacy, and the amount of enchantment in the air was almost as obvious as Draco's power was to the young man. With due respect, he took the proffered object, and turned to his lover.

His grey eyes were fixed on the innocuous-looking bangle, and for the first time, Draco looked uncertain about its use. Harry knew he had to be sensing the same kind of intensity that he had done (no wizard could fail to appreciate the craftsmanship), and it hit him to what kind of confinement the newly freed man was again committing himself. The hatred and fear of the bind runes was in his face as Draco met gazes with his partner, and Harry didn't know what to say.

"Your magic will remain your own, Draco," Albus' sincere understanding of the emotions being displayed came out, and the old man placed a hand on the younger's arm. "The bracelet will have no permanent effect, nor will it be immovable. It must only be worn outside your quarters."

Draco looked very young and very grateful for the reassurance as he nodded to his ex-headmaster, and, resolutely, he stuck out his arm. Harry took one last, long look to make sure his partner was ready, and then he clipped the bracelet around his wrist. The blond was barely breathing, and was focused completely on the operation at hand, so Harry swiftly drew his wand and cast, "Necto." The fastening charm enacted, he released the pale wrist and waited for a reaction. Draco moved slowly, looking at his lower arm as if it were not part of himself. A frown gradually furrowed his brow, and then, very suddenly, the young wizard sat down.

* * *

It had taken Draco a few minutes to recover his equilibrium after, as he had put it, being disconnected from the rest of the world, but after that there had been no stopping him. What with christening the new room with some intense private practice and some equally spectacular nightmares, which, in Draco's case, tested the wards to their limits, both men had had no more than a grand total of six hours sleep in the two nights since moving to their new quarters. However, despite this, Draco seemed determined to enjoy his new freedom, and in so doing, put behind himself the pain of Ilexa's death. From the midnight screams, Harry knew that this was not so easy to do, but during the day, Draco was avidly discovering the secrets of the reinvented Hogwarts with his tame Auror in tow. After a whole day, and another half a morning of very strange discussions between Draco and the Map on the best routes around the complex, which Harry would never even have contemplated on his own, he was beginning to feel his lack of sleep, and the only reason he was keeping up with the exuberant explorer was the fact that he knew they were heading towards the mess for elevenses with Ginny, and he was looking forward to a very large cup of coffee.

Draco stopped at a t-junction of corridors, frowning as he tested his memory. Harry was in no mood for getting lost, which had happened many times as his lover had fun, and he complained, "Ask the Map, I want my coffee in the next five minutes."

"Really, Potter, you have no sense of adventure," his companion turned on him and grinned impishly.

"I'll settle for a rest," he muttered grouchily.

"You had enough energy last night," Draco teased, and walked back towards his partner.

Harry took a few steps away from the hand that was held out to him, and he hissed urgently, "Draco, not in public!"

The blond pouted, but heeded the warning and stopped a decent foot away. However, he wasn't finished with the provocation; Harry knew the look in his lover's eyes by now, it held a spark which challenged all authority, willed the world to catch him out, and the watcher also knew there was no stopping it unless Draco wanted it stopped.

"There's no one around," his partner observed, looking dramatically up and down the empty corridor. "Aren't you willing to take a few risks to have a little fun?"

Harry crossed his arms and disapproved.

"Number one, Malfoy, I'm on duty. Number two, just in case someone comes along, I'm not an exhibitionist. Number three, were you listening when Albus gave us that not so subtle lecture about discretion being the better part of this relationship?"

Draco didn't reply, he just looked his lover up and down several times with an open lust which began to have the desired effect on Harry.

"Don't play games, Draco," he protested, trying to remain perfectly serious, but it was difficult when he was at the mercy of his libido. "Get going and find our way to that coffee."

His companion paused a moment longer, his wilfulness in charge, but finally he demonstrated that he did have some sense of propriety. Harry watched him with a mixture of relief and frustration as, with a shrug of his shoulders, Draco began to back towards the t-junction again.

"You can be a real stick in the mud, Potter," he jibed, and then, with a final flash of his come-to-bed eyes, he turned and decided which way to go.

Gritting his teeth, letting his temperature return to normal, and wondering at how easy his partner found it to set him all of a dither, Harry followed.


	42. Nothing Dangerous

After a couple of wrong turns, which Draco blamed on Harry for distracting him, the pair finally entered the corridor which ran along the front of the mess. The Auror was truly feeling weary, but his professional persona came out as he laid eyes on people, who, when they recognised Draco, to a wizard, showed their contempt on their faces. His prisoner seemed oblivious to the stares, well on the surface at least, but by the way the blond's shoulder's straightened, he fell in beside his companion and he stopped talking, Harry knew that the fixed smile was for show. He slid his hand into his robes and placed his fingers on the shaft of his wand -- just in case the loose group of people decided to take a pot shot on the way past. Only a very few knew the full story behind the apparently sudden change of sides of the Dark Prince, that would only be revealed once the rumour and propaganda had been separated from the truth to the satisfaction of his judges. Dumbledore had been very careful to stress this to Harry, and the Auror was taking no chances.

Yet, those leaving the mess gave way for those heading towards it with only a few mutters of disdain, and some fear. Harry had made a point of pumping his fellow Order members for the rumours currently circulating about Draco, and the fact that he was wearing a magical suppression bracelet had not gone unnoticed, leading to some wild, but haphazardly accurate tales as to why this should be so. The concern in some faces showed that they had heard some of the stories. The mixture of truth and fiction worried Harry somewhat, it could work both in Draco's favour if people were too afraid to challenge him, and against him if someone took it upon themselves to be rid of the very poisonous viper in their midst. Still, in the closed environment, encounters with people were inevitable, and the Auror let his concern drop as the strangers went on around the corner, and he fell a little behind as his thoughts again turned to a steaming cup of coffee.

Draco slowed as they reached the mess, coming to a complete halt a few feet from the double doors. His companion almost walked into the back of him as it took his dozy brain a couple of seconds to catch up with what he had done and why. One door was propped open (it was, in fact, never closed as the mess was open twenty four hours a day for those on shift work) and through the opening, Harry heard his name. He also recognised the voice, it was the distinctive Welsh tones of Richard Llewellyn, and the young man froze, knowing he wanted to hear nothing of what his enemy had to say about him, but finding that he was listening anyway.

"...and why's Potter wearing those bloody robes everywhere, Ponce!" the Welshman derided, loud enough for most of the mess to hear.

"He's on duty," Dean's voice defended, and the heat there made Harry feel a bit better.

"Piffle! The other Aurors don't go prancing around in uniform," Llewellyn dismissed.

"Yeah, but when you're dealing with a Malfoy, you have to shown 'em who's boss," Seamus was also at the table, and Harry saw Draco stiffen.

"That head case shouldn't be allowed to guard a bunch of fairies, let alone that treacherous snake," Richard was on a role, and all his venom was coming out in his tone.

There were a few 'Heys!' from the group that the listeners couldn't see, and it was Dean again, who defended, "Harry is not a head case. Just because he gave you what you deserved."

"Oh come on, you think all that screaming is normal?"

"That was only the first night," Thomas was battling alone.

"That was because he didn't stick around the rest of the time he was sharing the barracks," Seamus surprised his old school friend with his observation, he had thought he had slipped out unnoticed. "If he slept at all, it wasn't in his own bed."

"At least it's only Malfoy who has to put up with that now," another voice Harry didn't recognise piped up.

"And what's that all about?!" Llewellyn found some new ammunition and launched hotly. "Malfoy gets let out of a cell and gets his own private quarters with his own private guard? The Death Eaters have been fiddling with his magical physiology -."

"That's a long word for you, Llewellyn," someone joked, and there was silence for a moment before the conversation started up again. The volume had dropped, as though secrets were being shared, but the party must have been close to the door, because the words still made it to the statuesque listeners outside. Harry had heard these stories before, but he wanted to hear the angle from a hostile mouth instead of the version he knew his friends would have sanitised.

"Look, he's not normal, else why would he be wearing one of those fancy bracelets?" the Welshman continued. "He's dangerous. Those fools making the decisions have been blinded by Potter's fascination with him."

"Harry is not 'fascinated'!" Seamus countered, quite clearly not meaning 'fascinated'; that made Harry go suddenly hot and cold, as he realised that the rumour mill was considerably better at guessing than he had supposed.

No Dean came to his defence this time. Instead, his enemy continued with relish unopposed, "You're fooling yourself, Finnigan. Worst enemies suddenly becoming best buddies? They're even sharing a room."

"Harry's just doing his job!"

"Yeah, and single beds can't be slid together," Richard sneered. "That Malfoy's a poof, and he's got his claws into Potter."

There was a rapid scraping of chairs on the floor, and Dean's disgusted voiced announced, "We have somewhere else to be!"

"Don't be a fool, Thomas. Malfoy has a hold over Potter. Something happened in that castle, and if it wasn't that then it has to be worse," Llewellyn called, not trying to hide his assumptions from the rest of the room.

It was only as Seamus and Dean appeared at the door, that Harry's thoughts snapped back from imagining the scene inside to where he was, and it was obvious to both sides what had been overheard. His school friends stared at both Draco and Harry in embarrassment and they stared back. Harry could see the mixture of doubt and loyalty in the other men's features and he didn't know how to answer it. Llewellyn's facts were correct, however bad his attitude towards them, and that made any kind of denial difficult for the honest young man. It didn't help that he couldn't see Draco's face, and could only guess from the stiff-shouldered, immobile stance that he was showing his displeasure at the conversation.

Ginny broke the standoff.

The young woman came hurrying up behind Harry and greeted before assessing the situation, "Hi Guys. Dean, Seamus, great, do you have time for a coffee with us?"

Her boyfriend turned to Ginny, looking awkward.

"Er," he began, accepting a peck on the cheek and then glancing from Harry to Draco (who, from what Harry could see and guess, had entered into a glaring match with Seamus) and then back to the redhead. "No, sorry, I have to get going."

Ginny was catching up with the icy silence quite rapidly, but before the frown she was gathering brought forth a comment, Dean called, "Come on, Seamus."

With a quick return kiss, an apologetic glance at Harry, which would have had more impact if the young man hadn't pointedly ignored Draco, and then a 'get-a-move-on' stare at his Irish buddy, Dean walked rapidly away. Seamus paused a little longer, rounding up his stare at the Dark Prince with a contempt which made his opinion of the blond obvious, before he stalked away without a second glance at anyone.

"What's the matter?" Ginny asked warily.

"Disapproval," the reply came from Draco, and as he spun to face the new arrival, Harry's heart entered his throat, "from a jumped up little twit who needs taking down a peg or two."

Draco's wilfulness was something to which Harry had become accustomed, and he found it, mostly, endearing. However, the look in his lover's eyes this time was far beyond that playful instinct. He saw savagery in the grey-blues, and he knew that something had snapped inside his prisoner. What Harry had heard had made him want to turn around and find somewhere else to spend his time. It seemed to have achieved the opposite in Draco, and his guard chilled as he recognised the wildness from his earliest encounters with the Dark Prince at Hogwarts.

"Draco, whatever you're thinking, don't," Harry warned, unsure if he was even appealing to any sane thought in his friend's brain. "Llewellyn's not worth it."

"Don't look so worried, Potter, I can't do anything," Draco spat back, waving his wrist.

However, the blond's smile nagged at a suspicion that had been growing in Harry since the bangles had first been used -- that the suppression was not completely effective. In those few minutes when his lover had been confused and giddy from the locking of the bracelet, Harry had felt nothing from him. However, Draco had been fighting to regain his equilibrium, and as he had done so, the young man had felt a tug from his instincts. He had said nothing at the time, and Draco had not revealed that his magic had found a way round its prison, but the Auror was almost sure that it had. Now was not a good time to discover if he was correct.

"Come on, Ginny, lets go and find a table," Draco decided, his smile widening as he turned to the young woman and offered out an arm to her.

The redhead had clearly made an acquaintance with Richard Llewellyn, because there was a look of distaste in her eyes as she glanced from Draco to Harry and back again. The Weasleys and the Malfoys didn't have much in common, but the ability to rise to the bait seemed to be one of them, and Harry had a sinking feeling as he saw the dislike in Ginny morph into the challenge that Draco was offering. Her smile also widened, not altogether a comforting sight, and with a nod, she slipped her arm into the crook of her companion's. Together, the pair turned to the doors and their compatriot just watched with a sense of determinism as the goaded pair walked into the mess.

"Well, I said to Voldie," came loudly back through the doorway to the uncomfortable Auror in tones that were so shrilly effeminate that he barely recognised them as Draco's, "you can't be serious about the colour scheme. I know black can be generous to a larger figure, but purple is just so last season!"

"Should have chosen red," Ginny threw back, equally as raucous. "It would have gone with his eyes."

For a moment, Harry caught himself considering some of the safety spells that were built in to the bracelets and wondering if they'd have any effect on Draco. However, he ended up just being thankful that his lover had chosen exhibitionism over outright confrontation. Gritting his teeth, straightening his shoulders, and trying to look professionally unconcerned, the Auror decided that he had better follow his comrades. Harry took in the room with one glance, taking in most of the faces only to ascertain that Draco had succeeded in gaining everyone's attention, and only settling on those that were important. His friends had found a table pretty much in the centre of the room, and the young man kept half an eye on them while levelling his main attention onto a table two back from the door, where Richard Llewellyn sat, glaring at the superficially oblivious couple. He was so enraged by what he was witnessing, as Draco decided to wax lyrical on Death Eater fashion, that it took him a few moments to realise that another target had entered the room. As the stare was rounded on him, Harry fixed his enemy with his own look. He surprised himself as he realised he was goading a response, and just waited as Llewellyn rose to the challenge. The older man showed his disdain and demanded, "Potter, can't you control your prisoner?"

"My charge is quite capable of controlling himself," the young man replied loudly, both to Llewellyn and Draco.

"Doesn't look that way to me. Maybe we all might benefit from someone taking a leaf out of the Malfoy book," the Welshman taunted, and demonstrated that he had not learnt from last time, as he ran his finger across his neck, and then pulled an imaginary lead away from the imaginary collar.

Harry saw red, and so did Draco. His lover stood up, all playfulness dropping away from his demeanour, but his own anger removed any concern the Auror had for the danger in the blond's stance. Confidently, he held a palm up to Draco, and one look told him that his fury and request for independence had been registered. His lover remained poised, but did not engage their enemy. Harry could feel his attention though, as he rounded on his opponent.

"Perhaps you're too dense to learn from your mistakes, Llewellyn, and since I'm on duty, I'll let that pass," he told his enemy coldly and firmly, crossing his arms and simultaneously slipping his hand up his sleeve and onto his wand. "However, threaten me or my charge like that again, and I'll show you exactly what I think of your opinions."

Richard Llewellyn was as hot-headed as he was bigoted, and, with a growl, he went for his wand and stood up. Harry was more than ready for the move, and before the other combatant was fully on his feet, he had drawn his own weapon and had cast, "Expelliaramus!"

The Welshman's wand flew across the table, and the rest of his sound turned into a grunt as he was caught off-balance and fell back into his seat. The Auror lowered his wand, but maintained his heavy gaze, passing it over a couple of his opponent's companions, who had also risen to their feet. However, they did not leave their place, and neither did they draw their wands. As he saw the knowledge of it in their eyes, Harry thanked the fact that he was in uniform, but made a mental note to watch out for the two new faces in case there was a time when the grey robes were not in place to protect him.

"Now, I'm going to sit down and have a coffee with my friends. Do us all a favour and leave us alone," he warned calmly and with the authority of his position.

Llewellyn was nursing his hand, and seemed to have chosen to ignore the champion. Harry took that as a good sign, and with a last look, walked away. There was a muttering from the table as soon as his back was turned, but the Auror knew his caution had been heeded, for now. He shot the still poised Draco a triumphant smile and then slid rapidly into a seat beside Ginny and opposite his lover. It took the blond a little longer to settle away from the incident, and he looked disgruntled when he did finally sit down, but Harry was having none of it; he'd won, very definitively, and he was actually quite proud of himself.

"That showed the git," Ginny patted his arm in camaraderie.

"Looks like all that duelling at school paid off," he agreed, and grinned again at his partner, as he told him, "You were the only person in the year I wasn't guaranteed to beat by the time we left."

"The book always had you two evenly pegged whenever there was a suggestion that you two might go at it," the young woman chatted. "What was it, eight duels during your seventh year?"

"Oh, double that," Draco corrected, a crooked smile beginning at the corners of his mouth. "The dangerous ones never made it onto anyone's betting sheet."

The two men shared a look as Ginny gasped; no-one else had really known the full depth of the animosity that had existed between the two youths in their last years of school. Draco had tried to take revenge for his father's incarceration on numerous occasions, and it had not been childish jinxes in the private confrontations between the mortal enemies.

"You never told us, Harry," the redhead scolded.

"No," he replied simply, and chose to say no more about one of the many aspects of his school days that he had not shared with anyone.

He got the feeling that Ginny was going to ask more questions, despite the strange silence that the two men still seemed to want to keep regarding the encounters. However, the pair was rescued from further enquiry by the approach of a house elf, and Draco piped up brightly, "You can have that coffee now, Harry."

Their companion could take a hint, and she dropped the subject in favour of ordering herself a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

* * *

Llewellyn and his buddies did not, unfortunately for Harry's complete peace of mind, leave the mess after the altercation. In fact, the Welshman seemed determined to demonstrate that he was not about to be run off by some upstart Auror, and had settled in for the long haul by ordering some food. For the most part, Harry had succeeded in ignoring the bigot, despite some comments designed for him to overhear, and the young man was also thankful that Draco seemed to be disregarding their enemy as well.

Ginny was waxing lyrical about her nieces, and showing around a picture that Hermione had given her in which the two girls were currently playing hide and seek, so there really wasn't much to see, and Harry was taking a long draw on his coffee when suddenly his instincts lurched. He choked on the mouthful of caffeine, slammed his cup back onto the table and glared at Draco. The blond was looking surreptitiously at a bowl of soup that was going by in the hands of the house elf serving Llewellyn's table, the creature looked a little confused as it walked past Draco's seat.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Harry hissed urgently, knowing once and for all that the bracelet was having, at most, limited effect.

"Nothing dangerous," the other man returned with a cheeky smile.

"Draco!"

The blond just grinned and Ginny was playing silent curiosity tennis as she looked from face to face. Harry didn't dare look behind him to follow the path of the elf, in case it led to incrimination, so all he could was wait. Draco picked up his cup of tea and sipped it nonchalantly, while glancing intermittently over his lover's shoulder. When a gurgling and then swearing came from Llewellyn's direction, Malfoy hid his grin behind another sip, and Harry finally turned round, along with the rest of the room.

"Dish water!" the Welshman complained loudly. "There's soap in my soup!"

Lots of people immediately lost interest, others laughed, and they included Harry, more from relief than amusement as the exclamation revealed that Draco was indeed playing. The short chuckle drew his enemy's attention, and he charged, "Potter, you did it!"

"No," Harry returned, showing his hands were empty, but still laughing.

"You're lying," Llewellyn wasn't giving up so easily, and climbed to his feet. "You had plenty of time to put your wand away."

"It wasn't me!" the Auror countered, his humour slipping away, and getting ready for another confrontation.

"Apologies, Sir, Dobby doesn't know how Dobby made a mistake. Dobby will replace the soup," the house elf came dashing out from the kitchen and placed himself between the two wizards.

The small creature grabbed the bowl from the table and there was a noisy little pop as he disappeared with it straight to the source. In seconds the elf was back, and almost threw the food in front of his patron. The Welshman didn't seem convinced by the explanation, but in the face of an admission of guilt, he was forced to let his ire go. He directed a clear gesture of disdain at Harry before he sat down again. Dobby relaxed and, with a bow, turned from the bolshy wizard, Harry relaxed and smiled gratefully at his little friend. The house elf shot him a smile, and then frowned at Draco, clearly aware of the culprit. The Auror swivelled in his seat and glared at his lover. Malfoy was still grinning.

"Don't play games like that!" Harry whispered hotly.

"Why not, he deserves it, just keep your hands in view," Draco replied, and the spark was back in his eyes.

Dobby almost tripped over his own feet as he passed the table on the way back to the kitchen, and Harry started as his partner deliberately disobeyed him. He had little time to recover from the gut-lurching tug on his instincts before their enemy made more loud objections, and Harry heard his name again. The young man had no time to reprimand his charge, instead, he stood and turned in one movement and holding out his hands yelled, "It wasn't me! Dammit, you think I'd waste my time on childish games? I have a job to do!"

The Welshman was on his feet again, glowering, and Harry could see in his stance that he was considering another quick-draw contest. However, Ginny came to the rescue and offered, "Harry hasn't touched his wand, I'm not the only one who's seen his hands all the time."

The young woman appealed to those around them, and although reluctant in some cases, a few people nodded in agreement, even as they nervously slid their chairs out of the line of fire. Llewellyn couldn't argue with that, but he was searching for a source for his anger, and it appeared he was going to move on from one flawed theory to another.

"Then it was your pet Death Eater," their enemy charged, and Harry began to worry.

However, Draco it appeared was not so concerned. The Auror glared at him as he leant around the barrier that Harry was trying to be between Llewellyn and the blond, and commented, "Oh really, and I suppose I'm concealing a wand somewhere on my person just for taunting pond-mouths like you?"

The Welshman's face was beginning to go red as his fury built, and Harry wasn't sure how he was going to calm this down without another duel, especially not with the stirring Draco was doing to their enemy's pot. Yet, Dobby came to the rescue again, calling out as he trotted back to the table, "Abject apologies, Sir, the soup is all bad. Perhaps Sir would choose something else?"

The house elf danced around the irate man, trying to keep his attention, bowing and offering different options. As Llewellyn's gaze skipped backwards and forwards between his opponent and his server, Harry decided it was safer to sit back down and deal with Draco. The blond's smile was not nice as the Auror regained his seat, and the lack of control in his eyes gave the prisoner a wild edge which Harry wondered if he could tame.

"No more," he hissed, but his doubt in his own ability to control the situation came through his manner, and only added to the fire that was brightly burning behind Draco's ice-blues.

Harry's mind cast back to his lover's reaction to his admission of the leash incident in the barracks, and he could see the same passion looking back at him now. Llewellyn had not helped his cause by using reference to the collar a second time, and Draco's feral revenge was running unchecked. The savagery was an intoxicating thing when his partner used it to sexually excite, but, in a public situation, it was pushing all the wrong buttons.

"What's going on?" Ginny interrupted the look between Auror and prisoner with a whisper.

"Just a little lesson in Slytherin revenge," Draco returned, affording her a heavy glance before he returned his wilful stare to his lover.

"But," the young woman began, looking at his decorated wrist, which was resting on the table, and then finished, "oh."

Harry pretty much ignored her after that, he was too busy in the battle of wills with his partner. The rational part of him wanted to try reasoning with Draco, but the same logical side also warned him that he had very little chance of getting through. So that left only mastery, and the young man began clawing back some authority.

"I will take you down if I have to," he warned, trying to keep emotion from his voice.

"How?" the blond challenged, his expression flashing defiance.

"You're having to make an effort for a really small effect," Harry assessed coolly, as he gauged the amount of focus he had felt during both spells. "I think my puny skills can more than cope with you."

Draco didn't like that, but he returned nothing more than a narrowing of the eyes, which told the Auror he was right. Harry wasn't naive enough to think that he had won so easily, but Dobby once again made the next move for him. The elf had taken Llewellyn's order, and walked past their position, a large sandwich held triumphantly before him. The Auror tensed as his partner's eyes followed the creature's movements, and held his breath as he heard the plate being placed onto the Welshman's table and his less than grateful acknowledgement.

{No!} Harry mouthed silently, but Draco just responded easily, "Tell me he doesn't deserve anything I can throw at him."

Harry's pause before denial was his fatal mistake, and his lover had responded in the blink of an eye. Dobby dropped the tray he was carrying, gave Draco a very large frown, and then proceeded to chase his clattering serving dish around the room, apparently having run out of patience with the whole thing. Harry coughed as his stomach turned again, the severe tightness of his abdominal muscles a tribute to the amount of effort Draco had put into the latest part of his vengeance. It was only seconds before the fallout from the spell made itself known.

Llewellyn's cry this time held no restraint; there were sounds of spitting and then the man let rip with, "Malfoy!"

Harry sat very still and glared at his lover; Draco shot him a grin of triumph and leant, once more, around the barrier he was posing, an eyebrow raised as if answering a simple enquiry.

"Yes, Llewellyn?" he asked lightly.

"Dog food - in my sandwich!"

"Oh really," Draco baited condescendingly, "and why are you telling me about it?"

Harry heard his enemy's chair slide backwards, and knew they were beyond just words, so he slowly moved his hand up his sleeve.

"You stinking, treacherous freak, you did it!" the man charged madly.

The blond stood up slowly, his amusement disappearing into cold, open hatred. His protector followed rapidly after him, trying to remain a partial barrier.

"Do wild theories amuse you, or couldn't you find a more convenient target, pond-breath?" Draco cut back, his breathing tight, but his words calculatingly biting.

"Stop it!" Harry stepped out into the space between tables, directly into the line between the two men.

"Get out of the way, Potter," Llewellyn demanded, and it took the Auror only one look to see that he had his wand drawn.

"Enough, both of you!" the official erupted as the childish nonsense of the situation irked him enough for righteousness to take the place of any doubt; he looked from spoilt brat to loutish bully and back again and ordered, "Sit down, Malfoy." Draco bristled at the command, but the Auror drew his wand and he meant it. The blond took a moment to consider his options, but with the odds no longer in his favour, like any sensible Slytherin, he sat down. Then Harry turned on Llewellyn. The Welshman had a victorious grin on his face for all of two seconds, which was when the dark wizard let rip, "Llewellyn, if you have a complaint, put it through official channels, otherwise get lost."

"How dare you!" his enemy was almost screaming.

"Someone is playing tricks on you," Harry drew in all the authority he could muster, and used it to put the man down. "I don't give a damn who it is, but if you think that's enough for an unfounded attack on an Auror, go ahead."

"You can't hide behind those bloody robes," Llewellyn tried, but the disquiet at the threat had already entered his voice and manner.

"From experience you know I don't hide behind anything," the man quipped back, confident now he could see the ground slipping from underneath his opponent, "but right now, I have a job to do. I will protect my prisoner from any threat, including bigoted idiots like you. If you don't like the company in here, and you can't play nice, then get out."

Richard Llewellyn stared fixedly at the poised Auror, clearly trying to assemble some kind of retort, but only succeeding in making his face go redder as he struggled even to breathe. He fought the conflict between his rage and whatever good sense he had, but Harry just watched him superiorly, knowing that this round was over.

"I'll get you," the Welshman eventually managed, but he was careful not to raise his wand towards his adversary.

"Not now, not here you won't," Harry answered smoothly, "now piss off."

He didn't turn his back this time, his opponent was too near the edge; he kept a firm eye on the enemy, maintaining his openly hostile stance, and daring him to disobey. Llewellyn was stubborn, but he wasn't stupid, but his combatant was well aware of the unfinished battle in his manner as he finally gave up the idea of food as a bad idea and rounded up his companions. All three men glared at Harry, and this time their ring-leader did raise his wand, but the Auror stood his ground, gambling that a cast would be too blatant, even for the bias in Llewellyn.

Harry didn't move until his adversaries were gone. Then, very swiftly, he sat down and let his displeasure be seen by his companions. If the Welshman had been an enemy before, he was one with vengeance on his mind now, and the Auror, with the knowledge of the new threat in mind, was still in force as the dark man rounded on Draco. The blond man stared aggressively back, defiant even in the face of the near miss, and Potter did not hold back as he hissed, "Don't ever do anything like that again."

Draco's eyes flashed, but he said nothing.

"The only reason I am not marching you straight back to quarters and leaving you there is because I think the safest place for us until he cools down is a very public one," Harry chastised with quiet vehemence. "As soon as I think the coast is clear, I'm locking you down for the next lifetime and you are going to explain to me just why you think that stunt was going to help you get out of that," he motioned to the bracelet, "sooner rather than later. Do you realise what position you've put me in if he does make a complaint? They know I know when you're doing magic, and they'd ask me directly if it was you. What do you expect me to say? Do you want me to lie for you?"

The blond's fire began to die at the admission of the conflict his lover was facing, but he still remained silent. Harry had run out of things to say, so he just glared back, trying to sort out if he was more angry with Llewellyn or Draco. His partner had been taking revenge for him, not a good motive, but one he understood. The original trick, although eventually taken too far by Draco's out-of-control psyche, had been amusing and harmless, and, underneath the professionally disapproving exterior, Harry could not help admiring the idea and execution. However, the responsible side of him wondered if even if Llewellyn was a bastard, did he deserve to be victimised? Ginny interrupted that thought as she offered into the silence, "Llewellyn won't complain. According to Dean, he doesn't like Aurors, but that also means he doesn't have a good track record with the other Aurors around here, either."

Both men took the opportunity of the interruption to break the standoff, and the girl sat back a little as both their attentions turned to her. Harry tried to settle at the deer-in-head-lights expression, and agreed with a sigh, "No he probably won't." However, with another sideways glance at his lover, he added, "Although he has every right to."

"Don't fight, Guys," the young woman countered both the righteousness in Harry and the ire that would have reacted in Draco, as she reached out to both of them. "Hasn't that git done enough for one day?"

Ginny's appeal did its job on her long-time friend immediately. He grabbed for the fingers on his arm and, with a squeeze, admitted, "I'm sorry you had to be involved."

"Hey, I'd have been throwing my own hexes if you two hadn't been doing such a magnificent job," she returned with the Weasley temper behind her expression. "That bigoted, foul-mouthed twit needs taking down a peg or two."

Draco laughed in genuine surprise at the feisty support he was receiving. Harry started to send him a frown, but Ginny giggled cheekily like the schoolgirl he remembered, and the expression just wouldn't stay in place. She caught his eye and his tension broke into a mild sense of the ridiculous. He bit his tongue in an attempt to stop himself laughing, but it just came out as a snort instead.

"Soap in his soup?" he rolled his eyes and asked with mock exasperation.

"His mouth needed washing out," Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly, visibly relaxing.

"This doesn't mean you're getting away with it," Harry warned, trying to straighten his face, but failing.

"Oo, is that a promise?" the blond teased and any hope of chastisement disappeared.

The Auror's mouth fell open at his lover's blatancy, and Ginny ended up sniggering into her hands. Draco seemed more than satisfied with the result.


	43. Something Dangerous

The conversation had settled down, and the trio were calmly chatting about trivia when the dynamics of the coffee break changed again. Draco had just opened his mouth to make comment about an author about whom Ginny seemed to know everything, but Harry had never heard of. However, he clamped his jaw shut and his eyes fixed on the door, which was over Harry's right shoulder. Both the Auror and Ginny turned at the same time, and Harry's good mood disappeared in uncertainty as he laid eyes on Ron Weasley. His female companion was not so withdrawn and waved enthusiastically at her brother. Ron, however, looked as awkward as his best friend was feeling, and he afforded his sister only a reluctant motion of the hand and half a smile. Harry swivelled back to face Draco as the look on the redheaded male's features suggested he might bolt, but didn't quite know how to do it. Ginny remained watching her sibling for longer, but she too, eventually sat back round and sighed heavily.

"He's gone and sat down in the corner," the girl murmured, clearly unhappy about it.

Draco was watching his friends carefully, and Harry found himself examining his chiselled features as the blond concentrated on Ginny. There was genuine compassion in his eyes, and it softened the blow of his words, as his lover suggested, "Go over and say hello. We're big boys, we can take care of ourselves."

Ginny looked instantly guilty that her thoughts had been guessed, but she was still tempted as she checked, "Are you sure, I mean, I came in with you."

"He's your brother, however stubborn and foolish," Draco cajoled lightly. "We don't mind."

Malfoy looked to his partner for support and Harry battened down his own instinct to object and ask her to get Ron to come over to them. He half shook, half nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak convincingly.

"Thank you," the young woman was earnestly grateful, and she reached out to both men as she stood up.

"Go," Draco smiled warmly at her and waved her on her way; he watched her leave, and Harry continued to watch him. He was still staring when his lover's attention returned to him. The curl of lips remained the same, but his grey eyes lost their sparkle as the young man saw something in Harry's gaze that was even lost on the Auror himself. "Why don't you go over and talk to him as well?" the blond finally worded his concern.

"The only conversations we have had in the few days have been one word," Harry moaned, not liking the frustration that thinking about his friend brought to mind.

"What's the matter with you two?"

"It's difficult to talk to someone you think is a perv with a screw loose," Harry couldn't catch the disquiet that came out as caustic self-defence.

"That's really what he thinks?" Draco was incredulous.

Harry sighed, that wasn't fair, and he corrected, "Trouble is, I don't know what he's thinking."

"So you're assuming the worst," his lover actually smiled at the insecurity he was witnessing; he patted his partner's arm and tested, "Harry Potter, how long have you known Ron Weasley?"

"As long as I've known you," he returned, not quite knowing where this was going.

"And how much longer do you want to know him?"

"All my life," Harry shot back, getting defensive at the matter-of-factness in Draco.

"Well, then, I'd say that you really need to start talking," Malfoy observed, without the vaguest trace of flippancy.

"I keep trying," the young wizard protested, "but it's like talking to someone who's in a full body bind, and it just gets worse every time."

Draco sat back in his seat and looked at his lover, hard. He took a while before he spoke the consideration that was behind his eyes, and then he was quietly serious as he declared, "I'm the problem."

"No," Harry answered sharply, too sharply; as the blond raised an eyebrow, he settled, leant in and admitted in no more than a whisper, "well, yes, partly, but it's a lot more than that. We tried to pick up where we left off before I went to the States, but it wasn't working properly even before I cast the blast curse of you and me. And I don't know how to fix it."

"Look, he's over in the corner now. Ginny won't mind, in fact, she'll be a damn sight happier when she doesn't have to split herself between you two," Draco prodded, and Harry grimaced; it wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Ron, it was just that he had no idea how to start -- the ease of their childhood would not come back. His partner poked the fire some more with, "He keeps looking over at this table. I can cope for five minutes on my own. I promise not to do anything you'd disapprove of."

Harry frowned, almost convinced by the winning smile and sensible words. He appreciated the irony of Draco Malfoy, the ice prince, giving him advice on friendship, and coupled with his own doubts, his backside was still firmly planted in his seat when all thoughts of anything but the immediate were forced away. One second not being able to talk to Ron was the biggest thing on Harry's mind, the next, another of his friends' strained voices begged, "Help me!"

The Auror spun in his seat as he barely recognised Hermione through the strangled cry for assistance, and what he saw made his heart begin to pump. Hermione had appeared in front of her husband's table, but she was not the calm, resigned beauty to whom Harry had said goodbye a few days ago. The young woman was in her Death Eater robes, always a severe sight, but nothing compared with the pain that wracked her features. A green luminescence obscured much of the front of her clothing; it was pulsating, and Harry's stomach turned as he realised that was not all it was doing. The clearly magical substance was moving over its victim, crawling over her soft skin and into her thick curls, and it was malevolent. Hermione was struggling to breath, and in front of the shocked eyes of those in the mess, the veins under her skin were beginning to glow the same colour as her attacker. In only seconds, before most had even had time to take in what was happening, the afflicted new arrival began to collapse.

Ron moved to catch his failing beloved, but his aid revealed only more of the terrible hex that had been vented at Hermione; as soon as his arms were around his wife, the redhead groaned, and the agony that was leaving her rapidly fading body entered his. The Auror was a strong man, but his power failed him, and to everyone's growing alarm, he fell to his knees. His sister reacted out of instinct, her hand went out to her loved-ones, and then it became very clearly obvious what spell had been cast. Ginny screamed and the veins in her hand pulsed the virulent green. An urgent hand on Harry's shoulder made him glance back at his lover, and the conclusion was also in his face as he voiced, "Contagio Malefica." The spell was one designed for the very worst of effects. Like a biological weapon, it was designed to indiscriminately infect any in range of its power and destroy.

Only moments had passed, watched by a stunned majority, but Draco's intervention broke the paralysing shock that had over come Harry at the revolting sight. Auror training kicked in, and the young man gained his feet as he ordered, "Everybody keep back! Get as far away as you can."

His words put people into action, and panic began as bodies fell away from the contaminated group. Harry drew his wand, unsure what he was going to do, but knowing that it had to be fast. Yet, his partner's fingers digging into his arm made him glance to where he had taken up position by his side.

"You need me," Draco insisted quietly.

Harry didn't think twice, he ripped the bracelet off his own arm, and instantly its pair fell off his lover's wrist. There was a small hiccup in his instincts, which made him feel a little better for its support, and his thoughts quickly hooked on to that.

"We have to get them to Pomfrey, now," the Auror decided as he was given greater strength options, "can you apparate us there?"

"I haven't tried it in five years," Draco warned, "I could splinch us all."

"Okay, can you boost me?" Harry was thinking on his feet, desperation being a great master as his friends succumbed to the insidious spell; sharing power wasn't something they had tried, but from magical theory, he knew it was possible for more than one wizard to perform the same spell to increase its potency.

The blond looked uncertain, but the sounds of pain from across the room drew a stiff nod from him. The Auror did not wait for any further leave, his heart in his throat, he grabbed his companion's arm, dragged him over to the heap that his three friends had become, and reached out.

"Now," he ordered, and focused everything he had on the Apparate spell he had learnt until it was innate.

The pain reached him as soon as his fingers touched Ginny's shoulder and before his charm had begun, but an intense wave of strength from Draco, that he felt deep down inside, rushed through the Auror, and it washed away the effects of the nauseating agony for long enough for him to bend the relocation charm to his will. Then he let the pain take over, and the young man grunted as the world disappeared. Such was the strength of the contagion, that, in the split second that it took for the group to pass between locations, its touch had daggered through Harry, burning him from the inside out, and had also attacked Draco. The world went bright green, and disappeared such that the young man barely had time to register that he had brought everyone into the main area of the infirmary.

"Contagio Malefica!" he screamed at Pomfrey, who had turned from the patient to whom she was seeing, and then everything was gone in brilliant blindness.

The tendrils of pain took over Harry completely, and he collapsed onto a body close to him. His heart thundered in his ears, and tremors began in his extremities as a vice-like grip took hold of his lungs. The spell had mastery in moments, dragging him into its own world; the young man knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was dying. Cold death invited him in, offering peace from the searing torture, and it gave him no choice. Reluctantly, Harry sunk towards oblivion.

Death did not arrive. Confusion was the afflicted young man's first emotion as his lungs drew in breath that should have been denied them. But that was replaced with concern as his senses began to return with each lungful. First his hearing picked up yelling, and in some cases, screaming. Then his body reminded him that he was lying across someone else, and he struggled to move his weight off the smaller form. The sound was dying again, but it was not from his ears losing their ability; Harry opened his eyes onto chaos, but it was the after effects of a greater turmoil. There were several healers sprawled over the floor, their wands clutched in glowing hands where the magic had attacked their attempts to help. Others were busy casting a barrier between the fallen and the rest of the world under the directional calls of Poppy Pomfrey. His friends were barely moving, only Ginny, whose torso had been under him, shifted weakly as Harry did. Ron had his eyes open, but barely, and he was trapped under the unconscious body of his wife.

The Auror looked around for the person who had been successful in halting the attack, and what he saw made his blood run cold. Draco was stood only a foot away from him, his hands held out to the infected space, his eyes closed in a mixture of pain and concentration. Harry's instinct came back to him, and he felt the sickness inside as his lover called the evil magic to him. The blond's translucent skin hid none of the ugly green that had entered his veins, and the patterns displayed their misery all too clearly. Yet the power in the young man was fighting, Harry could feel that too, and it drew the hex into its trap, even as it held off the devastating effects.

The last green tendrils of the spell snaked over to their new host, leaving the puny powers that it had been designed to infect and wrapping itself around his body. Harry knew it was too much; he felt his lover's magic falter before he saw his knees begin to give out, and he moved to Draco's aid as fast as his shaky limbs would carry him. The Auror managed to throw himself into an uncoordinated, half-lying position underneath his partner's collapse and caught him in his arms as he landed. He was expecting retaliation from the hex as he made contact with its only remaining victim, but he remained untouched as he scrabbled to pull the tense form more fully into his lap. Every vein displayed the green sickness and Draco's breath was coming in short, irregular snatches as he fought its touch. He began to shake as Harry had done, but his spasms became almost invisible as his muscles locked.

"Draco," Harry called, wallowing in helplessness as all he could do was hold the struggling man.

The magic took longer to bring down the more powerful wizard, but in despair, Harry watched it begin to win. The sheer spitefulness of the hex made him angry, and he lifted the wand that had remained in his stiff fingers throughout. As Draco stopped breathing, he knew exactly what to cast. The Ennervate charm shook the unconscious form as Harry willed the life back into the body. Holding his own breath, the Auror waited for a reaction. None. He threw the spell again, more desperation in his voice as he begged it to work. Draco convulsed and for another long second, nothing, then, to his lover's relief, as he relaxed away from the strong charm, the blond drew in a shallow, but definite breath. Harry pulled the man further into his arms, but there was no other response; Draco was deeply unconscious, his being encased in the vile green attacker, but the feeling in Harry's gut told him that stalemate had been reached. Still stunned by the whole sudden assault, Harry risked looking up at the faces around him. The eyes that looked back were equally as shocked; Poppy and those of her people who were still standing had succeeded in raising their barrier, and they stared in on the fallen through an iridescent silver hue. Harry just stared back and let his emotions catch up with him.

* * *

Harry's emotions had more than caught up with him by the time he was stood in an isolation room watching Madame Pomfrey work on Draco. He was shaking, and not from the effort he had had to apply to his weakened limbs to get his lover out of the general populace. They'd told him to move away from the man in his arms so they could isolate the contagion completely, Poppy had tried insisting, but he'd resolutely refused to let go of Draco, who was hanging on to life by threads. So they'd separated the couple from the other six, apparently recovering victims of the spell, and Harry had half-dragged, half-carried his partner to the private ward. Now, all he could do was observe as the heavily protected healer made her assessment, and, as he was faced with the possibility of losing his lover, the young wizard was very close to falling apart. Only as the knife edge had been presented to him had Harry fully comprehended what a large part of his life Draco had become, and the prospect of that destroyed was too much to bear.

He wrapped his arms around himself and focused on the shallow rising and falling of his partner's chest, the knowledge of that life the only thing keeping him from panicking and screaming his need. He wasn't in control here, he could not help, it was so different from the rune removal, and the uselessness added to Harry's discomfort. Tonks' odd equations for recognising love had gained a new member, utter loneliness in the eye of loss. Harry just about remembered to breathe, dragging in a ragged gasp of air as his chest threatened to burst.

Draco looked so fragile lying almost completely still as his healer did her best for him. The mucky green glow had not diminished under his skin, and his flesh was a mass of birds-eye view, algae-infested rivulets, his pale features lit eerily by their insidious light. The malevolent spell was still alive, Harry could feel it and his lover's magic as they fought for control of his body, one to kill, one to return life. His gut wrenched with the turmoil that was buried deep inside Draco, and his instincts told him to reach out to aid the fight, but he knew his own strength was nothing compared with his partner's and he feared interference would do more harm than good. So the young man just silently willed his lover to keep breathing, his eyes following every struggling draw as if his attention could make it more productive.

Harry was still zoned on Draco's labour when a hand touched his arm. He started and blinked wildly at Poppy. How had she got so close so quickly? The young man had not noticed her move from the bedside. The healer looked into his face silently for a moment, her own emotions partially hidden by the mask she was wearing over her mouth and nose. It was not to stop germs like a Muggle doctor's, it was enchanted, like the rest of the heavy robe she was wearing, to repel magic, and the woman was almost lost inside the protective clothing. Yet her sympathy reached Harry, and he hid nothing from her.

"I have done what I can," she assured her companion, but her eyes said that she was not sure it would be enough, "but Draco is doing most of the work himself. He's in a deep coma, but he is still alive, which is remarkable, and he is fighting the hex. Now we must wait."

Harry nodded, fighting back tears, he would not break down, he had to be strong, to be there for his lover however far away his mind had been taken. He bit his lip and looked away from the woman, back to the only outward sign of Draco's spirit. Poppy's hand squeezed his arm and dragged his attention back to her. She looked concerned still, but now he knew it was directed at him.

"Come away, Harry," she urged gently, and his immediate response was a silent shake of the head; however, the healer pressed, "You are exhausted. All the others are in bed, recovering, that is where you should be."

"I won't leave him," the young man answered firmly, stepping away from Poppy towards the bed.

"The spell is still working."

"I know," Harry snarled back, "I can feel it."

"Then you know it is still dangerous," the healer argued as gently as she could manage.

"I know I won't leave Draco to fight this thing alone," he made his oath, using it to push away the ready tears. "I may not be able to affect the bloody thing, but I can be here for him, so that he can find his way back."

Poppy objected no more, and Harry glanced back at her silence. Her professionalism was in place, but her eyes showed her care as, once his interest was back on her, she finished, "Alright then, as you wish. I will be coming in every fifteen minutes to assess Draco's condition, but if it changes when I am not here, use the summoning bell. Also, if you need anything, just call me."

The young man nodded, unable to word his gratitude. Madame Pomfrey understood. Harry watched her as she turned to the door, but he was more concerned for his lover, so he walked over to the bed before she reached the exit. He leant over the still body, appalled by the contagion both mentally and physically. Yet, he pushed past it, finding his need to help in a small, but loving gesture as he stroked Draco's long, and always unruly fringe off his face. There was no response; the blond's skin was clammy to the touch, but the contact made Harry feel a little better. He let his instincts reach out to his suffering companion, wanting to know the full extent of his comatosed world, and his senses centred in on vague sensations of the internal battle. The watcher slipped his hand in between Draco's limp fingers and let the rest of the world move away. He barely noticed the pressure on the back of his knees, only enough to allow the reaction of sitting down into the chair which someone, he didn't care who, had provided, and then he settled into the position he was willing to hold for as long as it took to bring his lover back to him.

* * *

The landscape stood arid before him in all directions as Harry gazed around at it. He had never been anywhere so desolate before, so totally barren of life. Or was it? Sun-bleached, almost white rock lay in all directions, at first appearance, lifeless. Yet the young wizard could feel something around him. His fingers tingled as he spread them in the air and his instincts told him to reach out. Here he could trust those difficult to read messages from his soul, and Harry held out his hand, palm towards the desert in front of him and let the power in the air enliven his open appeal. Something ran round and over his out-stretched limb, making the hairs on his flesh stand up with its attention; it was faint here, but the wizard could feel it, none-the-less.

Balling up the essence in his own body, slowly, testing as he went, Harry pushed back at the suggestions around him, urging his magical ability out through his palm. The reaction was quite phenomenal; the young man tensed as a shock ran up through his arm, and then suddenly, in line with the direction of his palm, a thin corridor of world woke up. As far as his eye could see, life bloomed amongst the rocks. A strange kind of life, nothing he recognised, but shapes full of colour, moving, interacting, covering the blank canvas that had been there before. Fascinated by what he had found, Harry lowered his hand as he took a step towards it. He stopped. The new world was gone and his gut wrenched with its disappearance. Stunned by the arrival and disappearance, Harry looked down at his palm. There was nothing in it, but the whole of his arm still tingled from where he had made contact.

The touch of magic on magic had not only woken the area around him; Harry could feel the prickling moving out through his body, and his instincts were shifting freely to embrace it. As the centre of his being spoke to the young wizard, he recognised the feel of the power around him, he knew Draco. He closed his eyes and listened to the mood within. The landscape didn't matter anymore, that was not what really counted, it was just an impression for his mind to rationalise. Harry knew he was sensing the barrier around his lover, and he wanted to reach him. Vision still firmly within, Harry held out his arms from his sides and brought the surge in his instincts to his will. As he had done with the small area of his palm, the young man did with his whole body, he pushed outwards.

The shock nearly knocked him off his feet, but the wizard steadied himself, gasping it away. He didn't dare look at the result of his intrusion into the dead world, he knew he wasn't powerful enough to make a large impression, but he could be a beacon for the person who was.

"Draco!" Harry called, offering everything he had to his lover.

The life whipped around him, the young man could feel it pull at his magical sense, drawing it out and taking what was freely given. The wizard put his all into the moment. His heart raced. His muscles went weak. Yet Harry did not let it hold back the contact he made. Draco was here, all around him. His lover needed his help, and nothing was going to stop him giving it. The tingling started to turn to burning in his fibres, but the young man gritted his teeth and gave his instincts free reign. His hands were the first to feel real pain, his left hand cramped, but it came at the same time as a movement in his soul which dwarfed its impact. As his fingers entered a vice, Harry sensed Draco clearly for the first time. He felt him inside, and he heard him vocalise his struggle.

Harry woke as his left hand was pulled away from him by the same desperate grip he had felt in his dream. He sat up rapidly, aware that Draco's condition had changed, but with his mind fuzzy from the sleep into which he had fallen, he took a while to meet the world properly. Draco had moved, Draco was in fact shifting his head, and his whole body was tense; the complete opposite of the coma.

"Draco?" his lover appealed to any level of consciousness that had been gained, standing up over him and reaching out his free hand to the contorted face.

The afflicted man was still cold, his skin was like ice, but his brow was damp with exertion. Anxiously, Harry turned to reach behind himself to the bell on the cabinet. He wasn't sure he'd touched it, but something in his efforts made the small metal sounder fall over, and response was almost immediate. Two cracks announced that Poppy had company, and as the woman near dived on her patient, hands took hold of Harry's shoulders and gently pulled him away. He resisted, but a voice told him, "Let Poppy do her work."

The young man let go of the hand that was gripping his desperately, and turned to the smooth tones' owner, Neville.

"I fell asleep," he admitted guiltily, "when I woke up he was like this. What's happening?"

"Poppy is finding out," the short man assured him, his compassion obvious in the small part of his expression that Harry could see.

"Please help him," the young man begged as he could only watch the fight.

What had been a far away suggestion of battle now made Harry's gut lurch as Draco's struggle moved up a level. The dream still hung around him, and he made efforts to clear his head, but as he pushed away the mists, Harry's own exhaustion caught up with him. His raw, anxious emotions mixed with his whirling instincts and without warning, Harry's legs gave out. The world flipped out as all strength left the young man, and he could do nothing to stop himself falling. Thankfully, Neville still had hold of his companion, and his powerful frame quickly locked around the failing form. Harry didn't really follow the next few seconds, as things went hazy. Dream images of the strange landscape mixed with the unfocused real world and the only thing that made any sense was the influence of his lover's pain. It wasn't that he could feel it directly, but the way it made his spirit churn drained his energy as if he too were fighting the same battle.

Harry landed in his chair as Neville manoeuvred him into it and the jolt made the real world more solid than the imaginary landscape that still would not leave. His eyes found the healer crouched in front of him, examining his face for a response. As soon as the carer noted focus, he asked, "Harry, are you alright?"

"Tired," he responded quietly, and then lost interest in himself again, and looked back over to where Poppy was examining her charge.

Draco was panting, but his body was largely still again, the only other sign of his discomfort being the crease of a frown disappearing and reappearing on his features. The pique was over. Harry noticed his own faint subsiding properly and his emotions settled as his partner's crisis abated. As the world returned to more or less normal, he raised his attention to the female healer, and he did not need to ask as she answered the look in his eyes, "Draco is not out of the woods yet, but this is a good sign. He's coming back to us."

"Thank you," Harry returned, his gratitude beyond words.

"Draco is doing this all by himself," Poppy seemed dissatisfied as she denied the thanks. "The most we can do is keep him as stable as possible." She turned to Neville and disclosed, "I want five minute obs from now on, the closer to consciousness he comes, the more volatile his condition."

"What's going to happen now?" Harry wanted clarity.

"Draco's developing an ice-fever," Madame Pomfrey explained, and the young man knew that wasn't good; the opposites of heat and cold at the same time came with some magical illnesses, when the magical and physical aspects of a person were fighting against each other, and it was a terrible strain on the body.

"Is that better than coma?"

"For us, yes, it means his condition is more transparent," Poppy tried to smile, but the creases round her eyes were only half-formed, "and we can react more quickly to any needs Draco has. For him, what was happening within is now coming to the surface, it is, in the near term, no better only different. But for the long term, if Draco is strong enough to survive the fever, then this can only be better."

Harry wasn't sure if he'd been given good news, bad news or no news, but he knew it was honesty. He looked down at his hands, battening down his emotions. It wasn't over yet, he had to remain strong, to be there for his lover. With a will of iron, he brought his scattered thoughts back under control, pushing the dream away, focusing on the here and now. He took hold of the chair arms to move it closer to the bed again, but one healer laid a hand on either of his. Annoyed that his return to Draco's side was being interfered with, the young man stiffened at the touches and glared at the two compassionate people.

"Harry, you aren't well yourself, and making yourself sicker isn't going to help Draco," Neville voiced the carers' concerns.

"I won't leave him," the oath came out again, the only sure thing in Harry's life at that moment.

"If I make a bed for you in here, will you sleep?" Poppy tried, but the very idea of falling asleep again made the young man jumpy.

Guiltily, he shook his head, and answered, "Not till Draco's come all the way back, I can't."

"Then will you at least eat something?" the healers were tag-teaming him as his old school friend pressed.

Harry was not so obstinate as to dispute the fact that he had not eaten for many hours. He had entered the medibay at nearly noon, and it was now the small hours of the night. He had refused food before, being totally focused on his lover, but with the change in his condition, it allowed him some self-consideration; his stomach muscles constricted as he thought about his hunger. To his companions' relief, he nodded slowly. Poppy smiled, or at least, Harry thought she did by the way her eyes creased properly this time, and she rubbed the hand she had covered with her own. The young man shifted his grip from the wood to her gesture, and took hold of her fingers. He did the same with Neville's touch and looked from man to woman, not quite knowing how to express his gratitude for their efforts and understanding.

* * *

Harry watched his recumbent lover through half-closed eyes, but he wasn't going to let them shut entirely; he would not sleep, not yet. He wasn't sure how long had passed, a few hours he thought, given the number of visits either Poppy or Neville had made to check on, and to try to ease Draco's fever. The patient was still at the moment, almost deathly so, but his watcher was just waiting for another crisis, the next of many he had already had. The young man willed the shallow breathing to continue, in and out, in and out, it was all he could do except wait and hold his lover's hand.

The door opened behind him, but Harry didn't bother looking round; he was hardly ever alone with Draco now, the checks took almost as long as the interval between them. The watcher recognised Neville out of the corner of his eye this time. His attention remained on Draco.

"No change," he murmured quietly, his voice dry and mostly unused.

If there was a reply, he wasn't listening. Nothing but staving off slumber and waiting out the fight mattered. Neville went about his business, a familiar shadow at the edge of Harry's vision, ignored. Then the shade walked away again. That was how it had been forever, and that was how it was going to continue -- that was, until forever came to an end.

Draco drew in a deep breath and groaned. His brow creased, he shifted, but Harry's gut told him this was not another pique. The patient's eyes had opened before, but his expression had made it clear that they had not been trying to see. This time, the frown increased, and Draco turned his head, his eyes searching. Harry didn't trust himself to stand up, but he tightened his grip on his lover's fingers and put out a hand to his forehead.

"Draco?" he asked, allowing himself some real hope.

"Harry?" the other returned, his gaze still shifting and he began to squint. The thread of the man's voice rose as he continued, "Harry -- I can't see."

Neville had not left the room, and he quickly came round the other side of the bed, taking his patient's wrist and checking the pulse.

"Draco, it's Neville," the healer began confidently. "Don't worry, from analysing what happened to everyone, we have come to the conclusion that blindness is one of the first stages of the spell's attack. You are still heavily infected. It will take time for all the effects to wear off."

"Is everyone okay?" the patient asked, coughing as his concern forced the words too quickly.

"We're all fine," Harry jumped in proudly, squeezing his lover's hand. "Just worried about you."

"You saved us all," Neville added, smiling broadly at the weak man (which was news to Harry, but made his esteem for his partner swell further). "The spell was so strong that if it hadn't been for you, we wouldn't have been able to stop it. It was using any counter charms that were cast as bridges to the caster."

"I remember," the blond grimaced, and then groaned as the present reasserted itself.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Everything aches," Draco more or less answered, but his lids were already drooping, and the weariness came through his voice.

"I'll get you something for the pain," Neville patted his hand before lying it back on the bed. "The best thing for you to do now is sleep, get some energy back."

"Hmm," the patient agreed, and Harry watched his eyes close with a pang of concern. The Auror glanced at his old friend as it became clear that Draco had drifted rapidly off once more, and was given another large grin which almost buried Neville's upper face in creases.

"He's past the worst," the healer whispered victoriously, and then his professional authority kicked in and he told his friend, "And now it's time for you to get some rest as well."

"I'll wait while you get the painkillers," Harry countered, unwilling to leave, even as the relief flooded through him.

Neville frowned at him, but did not argue.

"As soon as I get back."

Harry nodded, and then the stocky man headed to the door. The watcher felt his eyes begin to close as he turned back to his lover. The relief had flicked a switch in his brain, which negated all the will-power he had been using to stay awake. His last sight was of a definite draw of breath from Draco, and then he let his lids slide shut.


	44. Healer Knows Best

Harry didn't wake when he was moved, or when he was undressed and put to bed, so the first he knew about it was when he slowly opened his eyes onto a scene he hadn't witnessed since Ron had moved out of The Burrow. Brother and sister were sat, in their night clothes, on one or the other's bed playing an energetic game of exploding snap. However, someone had toned down the bangs and pops to phuts and so the Weasleys were supplying their own sound effects. Across the room, just in view at the end of another bed, were a pair of feet, and with a little shifting, Harry made out the fuzzy shape of Hermione, reading and doing a marvellous job of ignoring the noise. All three looked completely unscathed by their recent near-death experiences.

Hermione may have been ignoring her husband and sister-in-law, but she noticed the sleeper coming round. As Harry tested how awake he wanted to be and moved more definitely under his pile of blankets, the young woman closed her book and slipped off her bed. She smiled at his dozy attention, and there was nothing for it then but to sit up and admit himself to full consciousness. He rubbed the sleep from his face as he sat up, reached automatically for the bedside table, where indeed his fingers closed around his glasses, and then Hermione came into focus as she perched on the edge of his bed.

"Good afternoon, Harry," she greeted brightly. "Welcome to Quarantine Ward 2."

"All the healers are in ward 1," Ginny added, landing on the end of the bed after the other woman's lead.

Ron came silently up behind the other two, a half smile on his face. Harry grinned at them all, and, stretching, he made comment, "We're still in quarantine?"

"Y'know what they say, spell and potion," Ginny shrugged, "best to make sure."

"Especially with that son-of-a-banshee hex," Ron made his first contribution to the conversation.

"I'm sorry I brought it here," Hermione looked away, guilt all over her features.

"Don't be silly, Love," her husband countered emphatically, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Those bloody Death Eaters are the only ones anyone blames."

"How did you get back here?"

At the question, Ron actually beamed at his best friend, and Hermione rallied as he explained proudly, "My clever wife linked our wedding rings together. One twist and they become portkeys from one to the other."

"We didn't want to ever be separated again," the witch added quietly, reaching up and stroking her fingers over her spouse's, and Harry felt for the remembered grief he saw in her eyes.

"Ingenious," he commended, and was glad of the honest puff it brought to Ron's chest, and the modest blush to Hermione's cheeks. Then a question that had been drowned out of his head by the worry for his lover came back, and Harry asked, "What happened?"

"A booby trap," the woman replied, her matter-of-factness hiding any other emotion. "I have been looking at certain files for the Order, and I think they knew someone had been tampering, but not who, so someone laid a trap. I opened the cabinet and the seed-potion hit me. I should have been more careful."

"Done is done," Ron continued to cajole his loved-one as only a Weasley could. "Glad you're out of there for good. It was getting too dangerous. We'll find other ways to do what we need to do. And, anyway, I was missing you. With Mum and Dad and the twins on the way here, we can be a family."

"But the Burrow," Hermione began.

"Has been there a bloody long time and'll stand a bit of neglect," her husband was having none of it, in what appeared to be a well-worn conversation.

"We want you safe," Ginny agreed firmly with her brother and nudged her sister-in-law as she added, "and Mum, and Dad; and I finally get to meet the girls."

"When are they arriving?" Harry warmed to the news of seeing Molly and Arthur again.

"Don't know," Ron made a face, "they have to come via the safe-house network, and that could be days or weeks, depending on the schedule. Only those who need to know, know."

Harry just nodded at that, he was getting used to the need-to-know state of things, but all the secrecy suddenly made him think of Sirius. He missed Sirius, he would always miss his Godfather, and he didn't like secrets. Yet, he had enough of his own, so there was no point in dwelling. It appeared someone else didn't want to brood over such matters, either, because Hermione launched, "So, Harry, you've been sleeping like the dead since they brought you in here. Poppy told us Draco is going to be alright, but what happened?"

The change of track was not totally out of context, but it took Harry by surprise. He glanced at all three faces, two of whom were honestly curious. Ron was trying to look neutral, the kind of neutral where everything was showing in his features, and Harry knew that he and his best friend still had some hurdles to climb when it came to Draco Malfoy, among other things. The redhead was looking uncomfortable, conflicted even, and he was fighting to hide the fact. Hermione had taken hold of her husband's hand as she spoke, and she leant back into him lovingly, clearly quite aware without needing to look how her words would have affected him. Despite the incomplete approval, Harry found a smile beginning to creep onto his face as he thought about his lover, and he told them with gladness, "He had an ice-fever, but it broke in the small hours."

The young man would have said more, he was in need of some confessional conversation after the draining vigil, but there was a knock at the door. All four faces were turned to it when the panel swung in, and two more friends were revealed. Minerva was smiling broadly as she led Albus into the room. The ancient wizard was looking happy as well, and as he was followed in to the ward by a trolley that seemed to have the qualities of a dog at heel, he asked, "Would anyone care for some tea?"

"Oo yes please," Ginny answered fastest for the occupants, as they all laid eyes on the trolley's burden of cakes and sandwiches.

"Does this mean quarantine's over?" Ron piped up, sounding more like an impatient school-boy to Harry than a grown man; the thought brought back old associations with other times when their intrepid band had found themselves together in the infirmary for one reason or another, and he sat back for a moment, watching rather than joining in, enjoying the old black and white senses of success that had accompanied them.

"Officially Madame Pomfrey wishes you all to remain under observation until tomorrow morning," Minerva explained as she made herself and Albus chairs and sat down, "but Albus and I persuaded her to allow us to interrupt the quarantine."

"Persuaded how?" Hermione asked, her tone heavy with suspicion.

Her old house mistress smiled enigmatically back at her and answered, "There are some benefits to the seniority of age."

The young woman shook her head and tutted, but she was smiling at the suggestion of the arm-pulling that must have gone on.

"Why is it we never realise how crafty adults can be until we're actually adults?" Ginny wondered, much to herself, but her philosophy drew a serene blink from Albus, who then passed her a cup of tea. "Thank you," she responded with a winning smile.

Hermione and Ron moved to the bed next door to Harry's before they were each handed a beverage, and then Minerva received a cup. Harry just watched, still a little bit sleepy, still thinking about other times, and it was only as his old headmaster passed him the second-to-last cup that he realised the ancient man had been aware of his preoccupation. The look that was laid on him was kind, but enquiring, and as he sat round and took the offered drink, Albus tested gently, "You had quite a night, I have been informed, Harry."

"Draco was the one who had the difficult night, I just watched," the young man found himself answering freely with a shrug and he let his leftover anxiety for his lover show.

"That is often the most difficult task, My Boy," Dumbledore advised sagely, and was backed up by nods from more than one quarter.

Albus sat down and reached for his own tea cup. All present had known the wizard long enough to know the look on his face meant that he hadn't actually finished speaking yet, and the silence was one of friends as they just waited, sipping the Great British drink as they did so. Patience was rewarded as Dumbledore's eyes opened slightly wider than during his contemplation, and he observed simply, "We owe a great debt to Draco Malfoy."

Oddly, it was Ron who was the first to back up the statement, as he admitted, "Never thought I'd say this about a Malfoy, but I'm glad he was there." The husband wrapped a protective arm around his wife, and his features showed that he was more than superficially grateful.

"We'd all be dead, and many more besides if it hadn't been for him," Ginny agreed bluntly, nodding to herself as her eyes said she was recalling the nasty experience.

"I believe his actions to have been a truly selfless act," Albus told them, a small, sad smile on his lips.

"And that is a characteristic I would never before have considered associated with that young Slytherin," Minerva made her comment, also with a half-surprised smile.

"I found him a bit of a shock myself," Harry shrugged, but then he caught Hermione's eye, and, by the twitch of her lips, realised that his comment had not been construed innocently. He felt his cheeks colour, and he sipped his tea rapidly.

Ginny was the first to let out a spluttered laugh, and Hermione quickly followed. Harry spat his tea back out as a wealth of connotations presented themselves to him and he saw the funny side. Professor McGonagall had put her hand to her mouth in an attempt to hide her amusement, but her eyes were twinkling despite an attempt to ignore any innuendo being made; Ron was even smiling, which more than made up for Harry's embarrassment. Albus continued to drink his tea serenely, and offered, "Anyone for cake?"

* * *

The food and company was excellent. Harry relaxed in the comfort of easy chit-chat. His friends' voices rose and fell as the conversation changed pace, and beguiled his sense of time. The young man began to drift with the tonal current, listening, rather than joining in until eventually he wasn't even hearing the words. The slip into the dreamy state was so gradual that Harry did not realise it had taken him over until fingers pulled at his sleeve and brought him out of it. It was Ginny, being the nearest, who had moved, but everyone else was looking at him as he blinked away the daze.

"Sorry, was someone talking to me?" he apologised, pushing his glasses up his forehead as he rubbed his face. "Didn't realise I was still so tired."

"We can leave you to sleep," Hermione suggested, but her friend shook his head and with a deep, restoring breath countered, "No, I'll wait till tonight to catch up."

"Considering the length of time you have had to sleep already, you do seem excessively somnolent, Harry," Albus observed, a frown gracing his features. "Did you perform any magic during the night?"

Harry shook his head again, concentrating on his mentor as he realised that the conversation had suddenly become serious.

"No. I didn't pick up my wand after using the Ennervate charm," he replied.

Albus looked at Minerva, and she back at him, and then they both gave the young man a look which he knew said he was being limited in his thinking.

"My Boy," the ancient wizard explained patiently, "wandless magic is entirely possible, even for those of us who do not possess the strength of Draco Malfoy."

"Especially in trying circumstances," the female professor added knowingly, and looked very much like she was about to take a class. "Now, did anything unusual happen while you were in Draco's company?"

Harry went to shake his head, but paused halfway through the movement as he wondered about the long hours that had taken their toll. That drew a prompt from Albus, and the man almost demanded as he asked, "No time when you would have considered yourself to have lost control?"

The younger wizard looked hard at his friend for a moment, taking his time over the sometimes hazy memories and also considering how insistent the old man was being; Albus had lost his mask for a moment, the enquiry being more than his many years of cultured restraint. Dumbledore settled back into his seat from the slightly forward position he had taken, and returned to the composed headmaster. The brief loss of control made Harry think a little harder, and he settled on the few seconds when he had fallen into Neville's hold.

"I nearly passed out when Draco broke out of the coma," he mentioned dubiously.

"What had you been doing before that moment?" Minerva questioned.

Harry smiled and joked, "Having a really strange dream."

He discovered that no-one else was in humour mode as raised eyebrows just requested details. Ginny was agog; Hermione was listening intently; Ron seemed to share his best friend's scepticism; the two academics waited patiently.

"I was looking for Draco. The world was empty, nothing for miles, and I knew Draco was a long way away, but then I reached out with my magic and the landscape came alive. I knew he was out there somewhere, so I called to him."

"Ah-ha!" Minerva bounced in her seat, and then looked a little embarrassed by her outburst. She grinned and illuminated, "He heard you."

"Pardon?" her ex-pupil wasn't sure what she meant.

"You are well aware of the power of the subconscious, Harry," Albus clarified, smiling as well.

"No way," Harry dismissed, but his tone revealed that he was not so sure; dream magic sounded so implausible on the surface, and yet he had experienced it, when Draco had affected the physical world with his dreams, and also when Voldemort had manipulated his thoughts.

"Oo, Harry," Ginny ribbed lightly, leaning up against him and rolling her eyes, "wandless magic, whatever next?"

"It is more common in witches than wizards," Minerva informed them all, "but then the majority of recorded cases have involved the safety of children, and where is instinct more strongly at work than in a mother caring for her children?"

The woman in the room qualified to answer nodded vigorously, and, with a surreptitious glance at Harry, Hermione then added, "I think wandless magic would come in really handy when keeping up with my two. Body-bind would come in useful from time to time."

"So which one causes the most trouble?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, that would be Aithne," the mother rolled her eyes. "Both of them may take after the Weasleys when it comes to hair colour, but only Aithne has the nose for misadventure."

That brought a laugh from both flame-headed siblings, and Hermione gave Harry a second look as she dragged the conversation away from him. He smiled back at her gratefully; he wanted time to think about what had been said, and he wasn't in the mood for throwing ideas around. Minerva gave her quiet ex-pupil a brief glance, but seemed satisfied as he turned the smile to her, and so she joined in the Weasley-baiting chat that her favourite head-girl had started. Only Albus, as usual, retained a subtle attention upon his mentee. Yet it wasn't like dinner, Harry didn't feel uncomfortable with this scrutiny, he felt supported, cared-for. The old wizard seemed interested in something about his friend, and his watch was mildly contemplative. The young man let it run over him, stimulating his own thoughts on the suggestion that Albus had raised, wondering over the implications if it were true.

* * *

Harry had nodded off before his friends left, and he had slept soundly until morning. Ron banging on the bathroom door to extract his sister had been the means by which Harry had been woken, and after that it was a mad rush to get washed and dressed and ready to be discharged before breakfast (which, it had been decided by an enthusiastic pair of siblings, was to be in the mess). Their friend joined in the jubilant atmosphere of getting ready to leave, it was fun, but he kept silent over the fact that he was not intending to join the others for breakfast. Harry had something else in mind, and was working out how to tackle Poppy Pomfrey over it, when the healer came in.

"Good morning," the woman greeted cordially, "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes thank you, although none of us slept quite as well as Rip Van Winkle over there," Ginny joked and indicated to Harry.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore informed me of the supposition on the matter last evening, and I have to say that I would concur," Poppy put her professional stamp on the theory, and then did not disappoint her familiar patient as she clarified, "Are you feeling up to leaving today, Harry?"

"I'm fine, thanks, Poppy," Harry grinned at her, and fixed his jumper round his shoulders just to show that he was more than ready to get out of yet another ward.

"Alright then, since you all want to decline my department's hospitality for breakfast, out with you," the healer smiled at her fit escapees and stepped out of the path to the door.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny headed in a group to the exit. Harry hung back. This did not pass Poppy by, and her professional face was, almost, totally in place as she judged his intentions. The trio of friends took only a few more seconds to notice that their fourth was not with them, and then they all turned, filling the doorway.

"Get a move on, Mate," Ron chivvied good-naturedly, "some of us are hungry."

The young man glanced at his grouped comrades and then back at Poppy, trying to find the right words to explain his position. However, Madame Pomfrey could read Harry very well, and she guessed correctly as she spoke for him, "Yes, Mr Potter, I have deemed Mr Malfoy non-contagious, and you may go and see him, but he is still weak, he needs all the strength he has to fight off the residual effects of the infection, so do not tire him."

"I won't, thank you," Harry promised, and was given a smile in return.

"Go on then," Poppy dismissed.

Harry turned to leave, and met his friend's faces once more: Hermione smiled at him, she understood; Ginny too, although he could see the disappointment in her look; Ron, well his best-friend seemed devastated by the revelation that he was not going to breakfast with them. Yet, the redhead was silent in his regret, and Harry didn't know how to answer it.

"Sorry, guys," he offered lamely.

"Don't be silly," Hermione became the spokeswoman for them all as she slid her arm comfortingly around her husband. "Of course you want to see Draco. Tell him we'll all come for a visit when he's stronger."

Harry nodded and smiled at the woman who could be truly wonderful sometimes.

"See you later?" Ginny asked.

He nodded again, and then waited as the threesome left. Ron turned his attention to his wife, and didn't even say goodbye. That caused a pang of disquiet in Harry, but he was distracted enough by the prospect of seeing Draco again, that he put it aside. Feeling buoyant, he headed to his lover's room.

* * *

Draco was lying exactly where Harry had left him two nights ago. He still looked very pale, and his eyes were closed, but his visitor took some heart in the fact that the glow of the green aggressor had faded. Its presence was still obvious, snaking all over the patient's body, but, as he looked at his partner through the observation window, Harry knew there was no power in the dull infector, only residue that would take time to dislodge.

After a moment's contemplation, Harry opened the door. His movement was quiet, he didn't want to disturb Draco if he was sleeping. However, almost instantly, unseeing eyes were turned towards him, and an unsure voice asked, "Who's there?"

"It's me, Harry," the young man returned, releasing the door to shut by itself and closing the distance between them as quickly as possible.

He slid one hand into his lover's and moved hair aside from Draco's forehead so he could lean over and plant a kiss on the grey skin. The patient accepted the gesture with a smile, and his fingers entwined with Harry's.

"Good morning," Harry greeted, and then stood straight before reaching out behind him for the chair which had been pushed against the wall.

"Good morning," Draco returned, his smile growing, and he goaded lightly, "Now how about a proper hello."

Harry laughed, knowing exactly what his partner was after, and told him, "Poppy said I wasn't to tire you." Still, that didn't stop him from leaning in again, and finding Draco's lips with his own. The response was not strong, but it was warm, and Harry paused in the moment, gentle, but definite. However, he was aware of the promise he had made to Poppy, and so he eventually pulled away.

"That was better," Draco offered his opinion with a blasé grin from ear to ear; yet the way the blind man's fingers gripped his, Harry knew that the mask was hiding insecurity.

"How are you feeling?" he asked genuinely.

"Rough," the patient wrinkled his nose, still making light of his situation, "but apparently on the mend."

"Bet it doesn't feel like that at the moment," Harry observed, pitching his mood at his lover's for now, and rubbed the hand that was in his.

"My bones ache and my skin prickles, and I'm blaming you, Potter!" Draco complained, and the mixture of banter and accusation in his tone suggested that he was not entirely joking.

"Me?!" his companion objected, his grip tightening a little.

"Yes you, and your demon-may-care attitude to survival. You're having a bad effect on me."

Harry laughed, but Draco's frown said that he did not find the sentiment amusing. His lover seemed conflicted, and Harry decided to try and abate the emotion by sharing his pride in the heroism he had witnessed.

"Draco, you saved us all," the young man began sincerely, but was interrupted by a petulant, "Don't care! I'm a Slytherin, I don't take uncalculated risks, it goes against everything I stand for."

The blond ripped his hand away and crossed his arms over his chest moodily. Harry reached across and placed his hand on the defensive gesture instead, knowing that this was just another protection against the weakness that his partner was experiencing. Draco ruffled at the touch, but he did not shrug it away.

"What was all that daring escape-from-Hogwarts business then?" Harry soothed, deliberately making his tone easy as he stroked his palm over the cotton of Draco's pyjama sleeve.

"See what I mean?!" the patient moaned, but his snit was subsiding, and the fingers of one hand crept back into the offered contact as that defence crumbled like the nonchalance had done before it. "And look where it's got me. Flat on my back, in pain and as blind as a pit beast."

"Do you want me to call someone to fetch you something for the pain?" the listener asked, anxious that the creases in Draco's brow were more than mere peevishness.

"No," the young man was very definite, and he explained, "I spent most of yesterday away with the fairies because of painkillers. I can handle it."

Harry would have continued to cajole and suggest that maybe accepting a little dopiness would be better than discomfort, but as he opened his mouth, there was a knock at the door, and then it opened. The young man was instantly greeted with the stomach-rumbling smell of freshly cooked bacon, and sausages and toast and other breakfast delights. He swivelled in his chair, and smiled as Poppy pushed her morning trolley into the room.

"Good morning, Gentlemen," the healer greeted warmly, "and how are we feeling this morning, Mr Malfoy?"

"Grouchy," Harry quipped back, squeezing his lover's hand fondly.

Draco's continued frown said that he was just that little bit too moody to find the jibe funny, but that did not seem to affect his carer's reaction. She abandoned her trolley next to Harry and walked around to the other side of the bed as she began brightly, "Grouchy eh? Well, Mr Malfoy, I think we'll forgive you for being a grump if you'll help me by trying to sit up for your breakfast."

The blond's frown grew deeper, but before he could interject his snit into the conversation, Poppy countered any objection with, "And do not tell me you aren't hungry, Mr Malfoy, we've been through this before, and you remember what we agreed on your last visit."

The wrinkles on Draco's brow softened a little, into a more helpless, resigned arch rather than crankiness. He sighed, and Harry knew his lover was truly unwell as he admitted defeat and agreed, "The healer knows best."

"Good," Poppy patted his arm, her voice deep and comforting as her will was accepted. "Now, Harry and I are going to help you sit up, do not try and do too much yourself."

The patient nodded. Harry stood up, and reluctantly let go of the needy fingers he was holding. The healer smiled at him again, professional and reassuring as she recognised his concern. He followed the woman's lead as she moved to support Draco's upper torso on her side, and he slid his arm underneath his lover. Draco did not have a heavy frame, but his weakness made his ability to assist in his own movements limited, and he was pretty much a dead weight. Between two, the manoeuvre to a sitting position was not difficult, but Draco leant into Harry heavily as Poppy released him and started rearranging pillows. His lover was shivering in his arms, and Harry wrapped him in all the support he could give; Draco took it all silently, his lips thin, his breathing tight. He relaxed onto the pillows with relief on his features, and, returning to hold his hand, only then did Harry offer the concerned opinion, "Draco, you should take some painkillers."

"No!" his partner snapped back, annoyed that he had mentioned it.

"Are you in pain, Mr Malfoy?" Poppy frowned, and took hold of her subject's wrist for a pulse check.

Draco considered denial, Harry could see it in his face, but after a moment, the discomfort reached his eyes, and reluctantly, the young man nodded.

"But I don't want to be groggy again," he justified his objections, but without much conviction.

"Mr Malfoy, yesterday you were in need of very strong potions, today, I think I shall be able to provide you with something less debilitating that will make you much more comfortable," Pomfrey soothed, rubbing his hand as she finished her check.

Draco didn't say anything, but his relief was obvious.

"Alright then," Poppy continued, and, satisfied with the reaction, slid the over-bed table up towards her patient, "breakfast first, and while you're eating, I'll fetch you that potion. Please pass me the tray to the right, Harry."

Harry did as he was requested, and watched as the healer pulled off the cover. Draco's nostrils flared at the stronger smell of good food, but his expression showed disquiet. Poppy answered that carefully. She took Draco's right hand again, and placed a fork into it, telling him, "Now, this is your fork, Draco. I trust that your sense of smell has told you that you have a full English in front of you," she touched his fingers to the edge of the plate. "Everything has been pre-cut, do not worry about table manners, use your fingers if you find it easier, and Harry will help you if you require assistance, won't you, Harry."

"Of course."

The woman continued briskly, relieving Harry of Draco's other hand as she took it and placed it on a glass of juice and informed him, "The glass has an anti-spill charm on it, but just in case, I think we'll stick with cold drinks for now."

Draco nodded, still thin-lipped as his hands were released and he grappled with sightless life, but there was a determined set to his features as he dealt with the boundaries of the current problem.

"Do not be backward in asking for assistance," his healer urged earnestly, deliberately tactile as she rested a hand on his shoulder.

He nodded again.

"Good, now I will fetch you that potion," Poppy finished, and headed back to her trolley.

Harry hadn't really considered himself as he worried about Draco, and he was taken by surprise as he was handed a second tray before Poppy went about her business. His blink was noted, and his friend chided, "You thought perhaps I would leave you to starve?"

The young man's stomach grumbled loudly and he smiled gratefully at the healer and he spoke for both himself and Draco as he told her, "Thank you, Poppy."

"Enjoy your breakfast, Gentlemen," she smiled warmly at the appreciation, and then bustled out.

When Harry turned back to his companion, Draco was looking down at his plate, hands on either side of the rim, squinting desperately.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"I can't see," the afflicted man sounded angry more than anything else.

"It'll get better," Harry assured, reaching out to make contact again.

"Will it?!" Draco flinched as he touched him, and Harry drew back, unsure; the green-tinged, blind gaze glanced his way, scared and anxious and furious. "What if I'm stuck like this?"

The troubled emotions drew Harry back to his feet. He put down the tray and wrapped his arms around his lover. Draco was like a board within his hold, but he wasn't about to back away from the worry, and he spoke plainly as he offered, "Haven't both Poppy and Neville told you that it'll take time, but you will be able to see again?"

"Yes," Draco answered, his tone short.

"And you don't believe them?"

There was no reply, but his lover shifted a little against him, and Harry placed a kiss on the top of his head as he continued, "You can trust what they tell you."

"Easy for you to say," his companion grumped, but his body relaxed into the support.

The insight into Draco's mistrusting world made Harry sad, and he soothed, "You've been lied to by too many people for too long."

Telling silence from his lover made Harry think more carefully about the Slytherin's view-point, and he realised that even from him, unproven assurances were no good, so he met the anxiety with the side of himself that had nearly been placed in that calculating house.

"Look, have your healers ever lied to you in the past?"

"Not as far as I know."

Well it wasn't an absolute, but what did he expect from a Slytherin?

"Has their behaviour been any different this time?"

"No."

"So from your experience, it is more than likely that they aren't lying," the young man argued smoothly.

"More likely," Draco grudgingly agreed.

"And do you think your healers have any reason to lie to you now?" Harry caught the snitch as he received a shake of the head.

The young man kissed his partner's crown again, and then sat back down. Draco didn't look completely happy, but the logical reasoning had removed most of the unsettling emotion from his features.

"Can we eat now?" he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Do you ever not think of your stomach, Potter?" Draco quipped back, and the ghost of smile touched his lips.

"I'm still under healer's orders," Harry laughed, satisfied that the emotional pique was over for now, and, dutifully obeying said instructions, he pulled the cover off his tray.


	45. Thinking Rivalry

It had been three days since Hermione's unexpected return, and Harry had been doing some serious thinking since then. The young man had spent most of his time with Draco, talking, reading to the patient, whose eyesight was recovering more slowly than the rest of his body, and generally trying to be a support. He had spoken to his friends and colleagues, but mainly in passing, or during their visits to see Draco, whom Hermione had decided was a good intellectual sparring partner. Ron hadn't visited, so Harry had not had a chance to clear the air. Yet, the Gryffindor had to admit to himself that his long friendship with Ron was taking a back seat to his relationship with Draco, but only, he told himself, until his lover was well again. His other comrades were, as usual, having lots of meetings without him, many, he guessed, discussing the impact of Hermione's discovery on whatever plans they were making. Harry didn't ask, it was less uncomfortable than being smiled at and told that he would know in time.

The thinking Harry had been doing was about his lover. Nearly losing his partner had made the young man reassess where his head had put Draco in his life, and where his heart had placed him. His head had recognised the risk of rejection and Harry had come to recognise that much of his capitulation to the need for secrecy had been protection from that possibility. Yet the ease with which his lover had manipulated him, the horror he had felt the night of Draco's coma, and the fact that little things, such as the light on white-blond hair, or the memory of an easy cuddle, made Harry smile had shown him that his heart was far more committed than his head. That thought had brought the man to the point where he was stood in the modest room he shared with Draco, considering some rearrangement. More precisely, he was looking at the two single four-posters that, during the day at least, were on opposite sides of the room for secrecy's sake. The lovers had pushed them together at night, but now, Harry was considering something more permanent, more blatant.

The room was fairly isolated, but the Auror knew that what he was planning to do would be gossip within the day; he didn't care. Resolutely, Harry drew his wand. The two bed stands were in between the beds, displaying their separation; with a quiet cast, they slid out of the way. The same intent dragged each bed in turn across to the centre of the far wall, and two further incantations put the cupboards either side of the abutting four-posters. The spells were quick, he'd done this much on the two nights they'd spent here so far. Now was the time for something new. Harry dragged up memories from transfiguration class. He knew exactly what spell he needed, he'd even been successful with it in the sixth year, but that had been with candles, an altogether more simple task. That made him think. Harry decided to make his object less complicated. In seconds, the sheets and pillows were in a pile on the floor. The young man was left with the bed frames and mattresses.

"Lectum coagmentosa!" the wizard intoned.

There was a screeching sound, like wooden fibres being torn and plinking noises as if metal were under stress, and the beds began to shimmer. Harry wondered if he was going to be left with a pile of rubbish. The magic finished its job, and the young man moved in to examine his handiwork. The two four-posters were now one six-poster, the frames having joined down the edges where they had been closest, and the large mattress that had resulted from the smaller donors had only the vaguest impression of a seam down the middle. More than pleased with the result, Harry grinned.

* * *

Harry didn't so much run into the medibay as he did fly. Draco was getting out that morning and Harry was cursing the fact that he was late to pick him up. It wasn't that he hadn't intended to be there early even, it was just that, since entering the mess for elevenses, he had had at least ten people stop him and ask after Draco's health. With his admirable feat of heroism, the younger Malfoy had gone from persona non grata to the biggest topic in the underground refuge, and Harry liked talking about him, but not when he was trying to get somewhere. He hadn't wanted to leave Draco in the first place, but Poppy had thrown him out mid-morning so that she could perform one last thorough examination of her patient before he left. The healer was not very happy with the situation as it was, and so Harry had thought it best to do as she said.

Draco was leaving at least a week sooner than Poppy would have liked, but he was mobile, after only five days, and with his increasing health had come a want to prove himself. Draco did not cope with a weakness very well, he had a tendency to over compensate when it came to his now semi-working eyes, and had decided to master everything he could, sight or no sight. Short of doing a flit from his room, the sometimes explosively frustrated patient had done just about everything that he shouldn't have. It had started with a random burst of magic borne of Draco's emotions that had made a shattered mess of the unspillable cup at that first breakfast, and things had escalated from there. Sometimes the minor interruptions to Poppy's careful routine were accidental, at other times, Draco's boredom had got the better of him. Harry had thought he had managed to get himself into some difficult situations, but his lover made an art of it. These disruptions in themselves would not have made Poppy yield to an early release, in fact she and Neville had been coping with admirable stoicism -- and a few threats, the most effective of which had been to ban Harry from visiting (that had made Draco behave for almost a full morning). However, Harry had the feeling that there were other people besides Draco suggesting that an early release be considered; he hadn't seen Dumbledore since the teatime conversation, but the young man suspected his mentor's hand in Pomfrey's capitulation -- why was a mystery.

Whatever the reason, Harry was glad to be getting his partner back. There had been no conjugal visits this time, and the young relationship's wants had been growing stronger as, with Draco's return to health, the man's instincts had shifted from worrying about him back to baser things. The odd cuddle or surreptitious smooch was failing to satisfy either lover, especially when subject to interruptions from all-comers in the public room. Harry was also a little nervous since he had reached a decision - his permanent rearrangement of their room had not been done lightly, and along with it had come a decision to make his feelings very clear to Draco. The risk was giving him goosebumps, and coupled with his tardiness, Harry was in something of a dither when he arrived at the isolation room. What he saw within helped his emotions not a jot.

Anger and jealously joined the pot as Harry laid eyes on Severus Snape. Draco had not hidden the fact that he had been visited on several occasions by his old house master, nor that he was glad for his company. However, when these events had taken place, there seemed to have been a general conspiracy which meant that Harry had been sent on an errand by all and sundry that lasted about the length of the visit. Hence, he had not seen Severus since the attempt to remove his collar, at which time they had spoken only enough to carry out the task at hand. If Snape had not already been guilty of a thousand things in Harry's eyes, the most recent, his unreasonable behaviour during the inquisition had made him a more deeply loathed comrade. The fact that the man did not seem to tar Draco with the same brush as he did Harry was quite obvious from the way he smiled during the easy conversation he was having with the younger Malfoy, and it irked the target of his disgust even further. Harry knew he didn't understand the complexities that were Severus Snape, but the more of them that had been revealed to him, the less the younger man had wanted to know. In fact, he considered that his life would be a lot happier if he could just avoid his sparring partner altogether. The tricky professor's growing friendship with his ex-pupil made that possibility very unlikely, and it was in a frustrated temper generated by that thought that Harry entered the room.

Both attentions turned to the opening door. Draco was frowning, but only because he was struggling to make the most of the, as he had put it, differently shaded green blobs, that made up his vision. Snape stood up smoothly, crossed his arms and looked Harry up and down with the very personal disdain he saved for his bully's son.

"Potter," the pinched man greeted, his tone matching his expression, "tardy as usual. You will be late for you own funeral."

"And with your sparkling personality, Snape, you'll be early for yours," Harry cut back, surprising himself and wondering if long-term exposure to Draco Malfoy was having an effect.

However, as his adversary's eyebrow's arched, the source of Harry's inspiration displayed his displeasure at the exchange. Draco was sat on the edge of the bed, but he stood up rapidly, and cut between the hostility loudly with, "No!"

The sparring partners turned to their host, still bristling at each other, and exchanging sideways glances, but Draco gave them no time to offer any comment as he continued, "I don't care what the pair of you get up to when I'm not around, and I can't make you out, so you can pull as many faces as you want, but you are going to at least sound civil."

Harry looked at Snape, Snape looked at Harry, for once on the same side of the conversation, and then they both looked back at Draco, quite taken aback by the fervour in his unseeing glare. The ultimatum was written all over the determined set of his lover's features, and Harry had to admit to being impressed by the power there. Yes, Draco was overcompensating again, but the colour it brought to his pale cheeks made Harry glad that he was strong again. The only remnant of the evil spell was in the young man's eyes, as they remained a mixture of dirty green and blue where the infection kept him blind. The rest of his body and his demeanour belied the recent trauma. The deliberate mastery of the moment pushed all of Harry's buttons, and held him mute. Severus also remained silent, and Draco's frown deepened as he demanded a response, "Am I understood."

Snape responded first, giving Harry another scornful look as he answered, "If you insist upon it, then I believe Potter and I may save our animosities for another time."

"I insist! Harry?"

As the masterful stare was more or less directed at him, Harry couldn't resist a small smile, and he answered with the admiration that allowed him to ignore his adversary's less pleasant gaze. "I think we can manage a few minutes, Draco. And I apologise for not getting here on time, but members of your fan club kept stopping me to ask how you were."

That drew the smile from Draco that Harry wanted. However well he'd managed to survive on his wild island, the younger Malfoy seemed glad to be reaching shores where he was not feared or hated by all those around him. Harry enjoyed the slightly surprised happiness that bubbled out of his lover whenever he mentioned the changing attitude of his fellows.

"Well, I may forgive you, then," Draco teased, and then continued, "Severus," he still used the name a little awkwardly as he became accustomed to the new footing on which the reforming friendship was based, "has been helping me pack, thank you Severus."

The man inclined his head, and his sentiment was genuine as he returned, "You are welcome, Draco."

Harry couldn't help the hostility he was feeling as he watched the exchange. Severus and Draco understood each other in a way he never could, the young man knew that, realised it, and knew that the two Slytherins needed each other, but it didn't make his jealousy any easier. He was on the outside of this friendship, and thanks to the mutual animosity between himself and Snape, he knew he always would be. He couldn't share this relationship, and that made him wary, everything about Professor Severus Snape made him wary. Civility wasn't going to last for long, it was an indulgence for a recovering friend's sake, but he bit his lip as his rival sent him a supercilious smile that said he knew, or was at least pretending to know what he was thinking. Unaware of the silent contest, Draco got on with the business at hand.

"We're waiting for the official go from Pomfrey anyway," the impatient patient made a face, and sat back down next to the small bag of items that were his belongings.

"She saw me on my way in, I think she'll be here soon," Harry decided to ignore Snape.

Draco patted the bed beside him and ordered, "Well come and sit down while we wait then. I may not be able to see, but I want to touch."

In public, Harry could have easily been embarrassed by the suggestion in his lover's manner, but in present company, he just took it as a victory. He went to his seat proudly and smiled shamelessly at Severus as he wound his arm round Draco's waist. His opponent's expression was fixed, and somewhat uncomfortable, and he crossed his arms more tightly over his chest, but said nothing.

"You can sit down, too, Severus," their host revealed by his tone of voice that he knew exactly what effect his directness was having, and also the fact that he didn't care; his hand came to rest in the small of Harry's back, and his fingers began to rub over the layers of fabric between them and the fast-electrifying area of skin.

Snape sat down in the chair he had been using until Harry's arrival and glared at him. However, Harry was swiftly beginning not to care as the relaxing signals distracted him from his loathing. Draco was squinting again, this time at the blob that was his view of Severus, and he continued the conversation when neither of his companions seemed capable with, "Well, I know how to loosen Harry up," he teased his lover again as the stroking grew momentarily harder and then slid round to rest on his hip, "but I think I shall have more trouble with you, Severus."

"I have never been inclined to be loose," came back stiffly, and Harry sniggered at the consternation in the man's face as he struggled with Draco's forwardness.

However, his lover dug him in the ribs and chided, "Don't laugh, Harry, I'm trying to have a sensible conversation."

"Then maybe you should select an alternative subject," Severus spoke through gritted teeth, and was for a second time in a matter of minutes in accord with his hostile comrade as they both decided that Draco was pushing matters a little too far.

"What, the weather?! Well its going to be a balmy eighteen degrees and lamp-lit as always," the patient revealed that his temper was not completely even as he snapped at the suggestion. Harry tightened his hold and pulled Draco in as his partner huffed away the momentary revelation of tension behind his façade. The young man knew his lover was nervous about going back into a world that he couldn't yet see properly, he had managed to obtain an admission of as much the evening before, but his own jealousies over Severus had blinkered him from how difficult the whole situation had to be for Draco. The source of distraction himself did not have many social graces, but what he did have came into play as he ignored his friend's outburst and took charge of the conversation with, "How is the assimilation coming along?"

"Rather well, thank you," Draco returned, his voice steadying with each word. "Apart from this minor set back," he smiled humourlessly, and sat away from Harry again, "I seem to be gaining control quite quickly. Although I don't know if the surprises are ever going to stop."

"In this world, few lives are lived without surprises," Severus offered, and for a moment, Harry heard old Dumbledore's sage influence; he blinked hard at one of the banes of his existence and was strangely relieved to be given a deep scowl in return, which put his opinion of the man quickly back into perspective.

"But some of us could do with fewer of them," Draco shrugged, more of his disquiet showing through.

"On that fact I would concur," Snape spoke smoothly for his sight-deprived friend, but his gaze on Harry intensified, and the younger man was given a very definite message that he was one of the unwelcome surprises; he glared back defensively, trying not to tense up and give anything away to his lover.

Silence fell as the two men bored into each other for a moment, displaying all the loathing they could without their normal share of cutting remarks. In a way, Harry found it an interesting challenge to declare how much he disliked his adversary without saying anything. However, Harry couldn't keep his hostility out of his muscles, and Draco was not stupid, and so very quickly, the disadvantaged patient voiced his authoritative opinion loudly, "I know I said I couldn't see what you two were up to so you could pull all the faces you want, but when it interferes with my conversation, I object. Why can't you two just get along anyway?"

From his exasperated expression, it was obvious that Draco did not expect an answer to his question, but Snape surprised his companions by supplying one anyway. He moved his attention deliberately onto his ex-star pupil and began with a severity which suggested he were speaking a warning of danger, "History has a way of repeating and perpetuating itself, Draco."

"Especially when someone goes out of their way to make sure it does," Harry launched, his bitterness at the way the professor had made him pay for his father's actions broad-siding him before he could stop it coming out.

"You have yet to prove my suspicions wrong, Potter," Snape countered, his control slipping as well.

That was it, Draco's wishes could not stand in the way of the ingrained animosity and Harry's temper blew.

"My name isn't James," he growled, gritting his teeth to at least hold on to the shout that could have come from his belly. "I never deserved your revenge. Taking your sense of injustice out on the defenceless was very Death Eater of you."

"That's enough!" Draco commanded, but neither combatant was listening, it had gone too far.

Snape stood up and glowered down at his one-time whipping boy, every fibre bristling against the hatred in the accusation. His eyes were flashing odium, old and new, and he drew it into a venom which came out very clearly as he began, "I see nothing in you, Potter, either from when I first met you, or now, that has made me doubt my opinion that you are very much your arrogant, self-righteous father's son."

"You want to discuss self-righteousness, you pompous git?" Harry rose to his feet slowly, ignoring the grip the Draco had on his robes. "Self-righteousness is being so sure you're correct about something that you never give any other possibility a chance. Arrogance is assuming that someone is beneath your contempt."

This was an old argument, had many times when tempers had been released, and both squabblers sank their teeth into it with familiar relish. However, it was the first time Draco had heard the exchange of opposites, and he didn't like it at all. That much became obvious as he stepped between his friends, wobbling as his speed threatened his balance.

"Stop it, both of you!" he demanded, grabbing both ways in search of support.

Although clearly not deliberate, Draco finding out just how much he relied on his vision for balance, made the argument stop in its tracks as both friends lost interest in it and grabbed for their companion as he began to fall forward. It was not the best time for Madame Pomfrey to come in, but with her usual knack for catching misbehaviour, it was then that she chose to enter the room. Her assessment of the situation was quick, and authoritarian as she charged, "Mr Potter, Professor Snape, how dare you distress my patient. Mr Malfoy has enough in his cauldron without the pair of you bickering like children." She strode forward and took Draco's hands from where they were gripping his companion's unsteadily, and asked, "Draco, are you alright?"

"Just lost my balance," the young man tried to be dismissive, but the waver in his voice showed that he had shocked himself.

"Sit down for a minute," the healer suggested, guiding him backwards until his legs contacted with the bed.

Snape didn't matter any more, as, with growing guilt, Harry watched his suddenly quiet lover sit down. He wanted to be close to him, say he was sorry, but Poppy put herself very effectively between both watchers and her patient as she fussed. She took his pulse and asked with only half humour in her tone, "Are you sure you wish to place yourself into the care of these reprobates?"

Draco laughed and continued the light reproach with, "Well, how else would I get any entertainment?"

"This kind of entertainment you can do without, Mr Malfoy," the woman returned to formality as she released his wrist. "You may be fit enough in body, but you will find the world a much more complex place than you expect for the next few days."

"My friends will look after me," Draco returned, a real smile gracing his features as he spoke.

"As long as they can stop squabbling," Pomfrey did not resist the dig and she glanced around at the silent visitors.

As far as Harry could tell, Severus Snape never looked openly guilty, but he could judge when the emotion was sitting just underneath the man's shell. At that moment, he was showing just that little too much attention to Draco's condition, and his back was not quite as rod-straight as normal, and his observer took some comfort in the fact that he was not alone in his remorse. However, he doubted that a momentary worry would stop them from fighting for long - Draco, in the long run, was just going to have to get used to being in the middle. For now, though, Harry bit his tongue and took the reproach without comment, and Severus revealed that his concern for Draco was greater even than their long-running feud as he disclosed, "Since Potter and I seem incapable of civility, perhaps it would be better if I was to leave."

"Yes, I think that would be best," Poppy jumped in before Draco could respond, and a flash of disappointment crossed the Malfoy features, but he did not object. Instead, the young man cajoled, "Thank you for coming, Severus."

Snape didn't look happy that his suggestion had been accepted, but he wasn't surprised either. "I will see you again, Draco," he finished with a purpose that Harry instinctively didn't like, especially when accompanied by the stare which he was given before his adversary turned and left. The young man had the feeling he had just been threatened, despite there having been no overt exchange of words, threatened in a very personal way. He stared out of the door after the disappearing back, trying to gather any more information, but there was none to be had. Whatever Severus' intensions, the momentary pang of angst they had inspired was the only interpretation Harry was given.

[Slytherins!] he cursed, as he was left uncomfortable by the hint of Snape's conniving.

The second Slytherin in the room was not being quite so guarded, in fact, Draco was still looking a little vulnerable as Poppy knelt in front of him. The woman took both his hands again, and told him, "Now, Draco, do not hesitate to come to myself or any of my staff if you require anything."

"I won't," for once Draco seemed openly grateful for the reassurance.

"And I want you back here at 9am sharp every morning for an eye test, understand," the healer ordered, but although her tone was earnest, its edge was soft as she dealt with her patient.

"Sharp, yes Ma'am," he nodded firmly and some of the Malfoy charm came through a winning smile.

"Alright, then I suppose I have to let you leave," Poppy was honest in her concern as she stood up and away, and she turned to Harry, saying, "Look after my patient, Mr Potter."

"I promise," he answered genuinely, and moved in to take her place beside his lover.


	46. Love and Praise

Severus was still playing on Harry's mind as he led Draco back to their room. So much so that he was barely listening to the stream of trivialities that had started coming out of his lover's mouth as soon as they had left the infirmary. However, Draco didn't seem to care, he just kept talking as though his sanity depended on it. He was still waxing lyrical on, Harry thought, Quidditch tactics when they reached the isolated chamber, and as he faced the door, a whole new set of nerves turned Harry's stomach. He remembered the bed, he remembered the decisions he had made after nearly losing his partner, and the immediacy of what he was about to do hit him full force. Harry stopped the couple's progress rather suddenly, enough for Draco to notice and finally shut up.

"We're here?" the blond asked, peering ahead at the closed panel.

"Yes," Harry returned, coughing as his voice threatened to break with the butterflies that were fluttering around his innards.

"Anything the matter," came the enquiry as, even without sight, Draco noticed the new tension.

"No," he scoffed back, covering with rather too much enthusiasm, which brought a frown to his lover's features.

It was now or never, and so Harry ignored the disquiet he was causing, pushed open the door and practically dragged Draco inside. Then he abandoned his companion in the centre of the room while he shut the panel behind them.

"Harry," Draco began, and the young man knew his lover had noticed the furniture rearrangements by the way he was peering myopically at the dominant feature of the room, the six-poster, "why are the beds together?"

"Bed," Harry corrected, his heart pounding as he took hold of his partner's arm and led him over to the middle post and then put his hand up to where he had made the join.

"You didn't?!" Draco was disbelieving until he ran both his hands around the single wooden pillar, and then, a smile developing on his lips, he exclaimed, "Merlin, you did! What happened to discretion, Harry?"

Harry was watching his lover's features closely, and the signs of pleasure gave him courage to finally come out with the sentiments that were the route of his actions. Haltingly, he began, "Draco, nearly losing you to that spell, it made me think about the games we've been playing for everyone else as well as ourselves. And there's something I need to say." He gulped in a deep breath, barely able to hold it as his throat constricted with his nerves, but Harry forced the rest of the speech out with, "Draco, I love you."

The response wasn't anything like any of the scenarios Harry had been running through his head. It wasn't outright dismissal, it wasn't concord. Draco laughed lightly, and, still with most of his attention on the seamless joinery, quipped, "You think I didn't know that?"

The levity was worse than derision as Harry thought he had been misunderstood. This was important, so important, and with a lump in his throat, he began desperately, "No, Draco, I mean -."

"I know what you mean," the change in tone was immediate, and the anxious young man found himself Draco's focus as he apologised, "I'm sorry, Harry, I shouldn't have been so flippant. It's a defence."

"Do I make you defensive?" the young man was feeling very vulnerable, and it came out in the question.

"All the time," his lover returned, but there was a smile on his face as he said it, a little sad at the corners, but still a smile. "Harry, I never expected any less than your whole heart when I pursued you, but what was a shock was how much you made me care. I'm not like you, I'm closed, secretive, self-centred, and I don't know if I'm capable of the type of emotion and commitment you can express in so few words, but I can tell you that I have never felt the way I do when I'm around you."

"I'm willing to take what I can get," Harry confessed, almost all the way to relief as he avoided the total rejection he had been dreading, and his voice finally cracking as his emotions tumbled around inside.

"Then how's this?" Draco returned to flippancy in his words, but there was no such levity in his manner as he stepped up to his lover and initiated an embrace.

Harry took lips on his with a kick that didn't so much calm his butterflies as make them flutter in an altogether different direction, and he sank into the kiss with all the pent-up emotions he had been harbouring since the hex-attack. The corner bed-pillar became a convenient leaning post as his lover pushed against Harry and he capitulated. Hands slid under his robes moving over the cotton of his shirt, dragging it out of his jeans, and finding his skin beneath. Harry murmured his pleasure and entwined one set of fingers in Draco's hair while the other clasped itself over a buttock and pulled the warm body closer.

Their forced abstinence made both men aggressive, and also very responsive. It took little time for Harry's arousal to test its confines, and jets of excitement spread out from his loins as his partner's growing prominence was rubbed against him. The young man hadn't really thought about the immediate term after his confession, and the passion swept him along. He followed Draco's lead as the natural dominance from his lover's greater experience joined with the current masterful mood Draco was in, and the rest of the world faded against the intense physical and emotional roller-coaster.

Draco's hands were everywhere, pushing his shirt up his back, snaking round to fondle his chest, playing at the base of his spine, expertly waking his pleasure centres, and Harry let them, responding in kind. It was only as his lover's magic caused his gut to lurch as a substantial concentration went to work on the zipper of his trousers that Harry remembered that they were still wearing the suppression bracelets, and that actually there was a good reason that he had not released the bindings. He groaned as fingers slid down into his underwear after the swiftly descending zip, but reluctantly broke the moment and pushed his way out of Draco's hold. Gasping, he stepped sideways and let his partner round on him.

Draco was struggling to see again, trying to make out what was going on, but before he could complain, Harry told him unenthusiastically, "We can't do this now, I said we'd meet the others for lunch in the mess."

For a moment, Draco looked disappointed, but then he smiled, and then he pouted, which did exactly what it was supposed to do to Harry's already heated brain.

"I have had to be good for days," he protested beguilingly, "and now I want to be bad."

"But I promised," Harry forced out as obligations fought against libido; he didn't resist as hands reached out, grabbed the nearest sections of robe and pulled him back in.

"Well," Draco began, hovering close, but not quite touching, "you could rely on my self-control to resist these urges I'm getting every time I hear you, or smell you," he breathed in deep appreciation, his eyes closing and Harry ground his teeth, trying to hang on to his Gryffindor sense of duty. "Or we could get it all out of the way by inaugurating this wonderful feat of magic." Harry's Slytherin self-interest began to win as Draco nodded towards the bed. "And apologise later."

His lover's hand slowly slid back down between his open flies, and Harry didn't back off this time. Draco's ill-sighted gaze drew in its captive as certainly as if his vision had been perfect, and like any good Slytherin, the young man found the best in the opportunities meted out to him, as he observed, "I've tried blindfolds before, very good for heightening the other senses. This should be interesting."

Harry's resolve crumbled, like always when faced with the seduction of which his partner was capable, and with a shudder as fingers took hold of his arousal, he forgot all about the prior appointment. He pulled Draco towards the bed, falling onto it as his legs contacted with the mattress. Draco landed half on top of him, one knee spreading his legs, and his hand still stroking his loins. After that, Harry only managed enough presence of mind to flick open the catch of his bracelet. He heard both suppressors hit the ground as they rolled away from their owners, but that was the last independence he managed as he was once again enveloped in mutual desire.

Back under purely instinctive control, Draco's magic responded to his ardour, and it became swiftly apparent that his patience was severely limited, because in a moment, both men were naked. Harry laughed at the sudden freedom, delighted by the hunger from his partner and enlivened by his recklessness. However, the loss of his only pair of glasses forced the half-serious enquiry, "And just what did you do with our clothes?"

Draco paused in the kiss he was applying to Harry's collar bone, frowning at the interruption, and to Harry's disappointment, the genital stimulation also stopped as his lover pushed himself away a little. Harry stroked his hand down Draco's torso, trying to make things right again, and cajoled lightly, "As long as you can bring them back, but both of us sight-impaired will make things difficult."

Draco smiled at the humour, but he took heed, and there was a heavy schlump as a large pile of cloth hit the floor beside the bed.

"My talented man," Harry praised earnestly, his magical instincts and his passion merging again, and he drew his lover into an embrace.

The admiration earned its giver another dose of Draco's talents. Harry murmured his pleasure as the now familiar touch of power akin to that of the succubus heightened his sexual world a little further. He deepened the kiss, and bent his knee up between his partner's legs, flexing just enough to cause Draco to tremble. His desire coalesced more strongly as the titillation flowed through him, and the need in his body surprised the young man. It was hard to believe that it had only been a matter of days since he had experienced his lover, but all the worry and realisations had created a large knot of emotion that the want for union was answering. He needed to show Draco how much he loved him, how much losing him would have meant, and that sentiment instilled a sense of abandon.

Harry knew what excited his lover, and deliberately, he reached both arms around the torso above him and dragged one set of nails up over each of Draco's buttocks. His partner broke their kiss, tipping his head back, and with a smile on his face, he purred his appreciation of the forceful caress. He held away, arching his spine like a cat, his taut lower body shivering against Harry's heated skin as the touch was drawn all the way up his back. The calculated move brought everything Harry expected; when his palms flattened over the scratches he had just made on his lover's shoulder blades, Draco's attention returned to him, and there was fire in his manner. The blond kept his eyes closed as his face turned down to his titillator, but the way he cocked his head to one side and the hissing of breath through his teeth told Harry that he had flicked the switch which turned off any restraint Draco possessed. Wickedly, he smiled up at his lover, and vision or not, Draco took the bait.

Draco was never hasty in love-making, and his first reaction to the come-on was subtle, but artful. Harry let his chin be lifted, stretching out the skin of his neck, and he shuddered with erotic vulnerability as warm, damp tongue was played over his Adam's apple. Harry let the claim on his body go undisputed, he wanted to be owned by this man in that moment and he released his pleasure in a small gasp. The sound caught in his throat as teeth touched the same sensitive tissue, and he tensed in surprise. Draco's breath ran over the same spot as he laughed lightly at the power he had been given, and as Harry trembled away his start, he sank his attention more definitely down to the collar area. Harry groaned and dug his nails into the shoulders he was still gripping.

By the time Draco had finished with his neck, Harry was adrift in their heady world, focused only on sensation, and he whined as the stimulus was withdrawn. However, his lover was merely shifting his focus again, and the whine became a moan as Draco stroked his fingers downwards between them, over his now damp skin and reinstated the massage with which he had begun his seduction. Yet a simple touch was not what Draco had in mind, and Harry's head began to spin as more of his partner's magic mixed with the already invigorating cocktail. Harry's stomach did its usual somersaults as Draco brought his power to bear, but it was not just his instincts which felt the magic. Where his partner's hand rested around his sensitised arousal, Harry felt the first touches of an intimate examination.

Draco had been experimenting with replacing his eyes with his magic since he'd been able to focus again after the attack, but he had been having little success, or even worse, been causing random phenomena. However, the unique incentive that Harry's naked body offered him seemed to have flicked the correct switch in Draco's brain, because the power flowed out from his hands, invisible, but wonderfully tactile as the infatuated wizard explored the body close to his. Draco smiled widely as he applied his sudden found talent, and whispered breathily, "This _is_ going to be interesting."

Harry's thoughts were too lust-saturated to make a coherent response, but he murmured his appreciation of the influence. It ran over his every pore, through every curl of hair, heavy enough to cause his skin to tingle, light enough to give him goose-bumps, and intense enough to tell his instincts that he was being mapped, millimetre by incredible millimetre. For these eyes, he was more than naked, as, slowly the inspection crept out and up over his taut stomach and at the same time, down round his testicles and between his legs. He shifted to accommodate the exploration as if it were a physical touch.

The charmed touch found everything: it ran up over his stomach, into the indentation of his bellybutton, tickling and charming his nerve endings, and it drifted down to caress his balls, electrifying his scrotum, making his whole body tremble. Harry gasped, unable to take a controlled breath as the sensations tightened his chest. The magic exposed him more than any natural trace, and its subject surrendered to it even as it made his heart beat faster. One moment he wanted to groan with delight as it ran up over his erection. The next he panted at the way it teased the sometimes sore area of the knife scar.

This was raw magic, barely under control, and the intensity scared Harry a little. He looked up at his poised lover, but found no comfort, only further thrill in the tight breathing and half-disbelieving expression that graced his features. The young man's body was rigid as he concentrated on the sorcery that was expanding his senses. Harry gasped and clung to Draco as the magic touched the tip of his arousal and his body pulsed.

"No, Draco, please," he half objected, half lied as the all-encompassing embrace woke too many pleasure centres at once, but he did nothing to counter the spreading charm. "Oh god, I can't," he begged for a release he didn't really want as his lover guided the spell up between his buttocks. Helplessly, he lifted himself a little way off the bed with a groan of disbelief as the first pressure of intrusion ignored his plea and then, with a cry, he reared as the spell rushed in like no mortal touch could. He met Draco's taut body, and pushed against him hard as sensation took over completely. The magic touched him within and without, warm and sensual while being erotically alien, stimulating and demanding his pleasure. Harry had no choice in his own climax, it happened quickly and violently, and the cataclysm of desire was too much for him. The mind-wiping torrent of pleasure ran through him, and its lust-soaked victim passed out.

Harry came to what had to have only been seconds later, because every fibre was still awash with sensation. However, he was not allowed the luxury of wallowing in the waves of pleasure, because alarm chased them away as he realised that there was an inert body lying across his chest. The young man struggled to sit up, rolling Draco down his torso onto his lap so that the pale face was up towards him. The stupid smile on his lover's features calmed the racing of Harry's heart somewhat, but he still checked that Draco was breathing before relaxing. Adrenalin dispersed quickly, and Harry's limbs turned to jelly. He collapsed back down onto the bed, shivering as the left-over tinglings threatened that they could take him back to the pique which had already felled him once. The idea was nice, but reality warned that such intensity was only meant to happen occasionally unless he wanted to visit a healer in the near future, so the young man just lay still, rerunning the experience in his mind as he waited for Draco to wake up.

Harry did not have long to muse. Draco's groan as he came round was full of the same eddies of passion that were in Harry. He stretched and shifted against his pillow, and his pillow joined him in vocalisation as, with consciousness, the magical intent came back. Harry's body complained as the sensation grew again, but this time pain out-weighed pleasure.

"No, Draco, stop, now!" Harry objected and meant it.

The dreamy wizard sat up rapidly and reigned in his skills. Harry whined and gasped away the fresh intensity, curling over onto his side into his own world as the eddies expanded some more despite the withdrawal. When he came back to reality, Draco was leaning over him and calling his name.

"I'm alright," he managed to gasp an answer to the anxiety in his lover.

"I'm sorry," Draco told him, resting his weight against his back, and Harry could then feel shivers from the other body.

"Are you okay?" he asked, suddenly reminded that his partner was still considered to be convalescing and that Poppy would have given them both a rocket for trying to use Draco's magic while he was still fighting the remnants of the infection.

However, Draco laughed, and then sighed and answered, "Don't ask me to stand up, but, yes, I'm fine."

"I think," Harry let his mind slip back to the high as all concerns were answered, "that was the most incredible skill you've discovered yet."

His lover laughed again, and ran his hands through his hair as he agreed, "What a rush."

* * *

Things had slowed down after the intense magical hit, but neither lover had wanted to abandon the closeness with any haste. So it was that almost two hours late, his hair wet from a cleansing shower, Harry walked into the mess beside his lover. He was a little nervous; the rumour mill had to have been working overtime about he and Draco, and he was expecting the sideways glances that rested on them both as he led his companion to a spare table.

"Are we drawing any interest?" Draco asked, apparently irreverently, but it had been he who had very seriously insisted that they do nothing rash to confirm or deny their relationship in public.

"Only the whole room," Harry returned quietly, and in a minor show of rebellious affection, he placed one palm over the top of his lover's hand where it rested on his arm; the logical, calculating part of his psyche told Harry that the gesture could have been interpreted as a concerned friend aiding his afflicted comrade, as it compromised with the love-sick part of him that wanted everyone to see it for what it was.

"Good or bad interest?"

"Oh, about fifty-fifty."

Draco laughed, they were both in good moods and nothing short of Voldemort appearing was going to abate the sentiments. Harry drew out a chair for him, and guided him into it, but Draco was more interested in his sense of smell as his nose flared at the mouth-watering aromas that surrounded them.

"God, I'm starving," he announced, and was rewarded by the swift appearance of a house-elf by their table, even before Harry sat down.

The small creature was beaming all over his face as he bowed and greeted with the same warmth in his voice, "Good afternoon, Sirs. Malachi is very pleased to be serving you today."

"Hello, Malachi," Draco returned buoyantly at the welcome.

"What may Malachi do for you?" the elf continued.

Before Draco could order, Harry had a thought about another house elf they had run ragged on his partner's last visit, and he asked, "Is Dobby around?"

"In the kitchen, Sir," Malachi answered, his ears drooping in disappointment as he asked, "Does Sir wish him to replace Malachi."

"No," Harry soothed, and the ears perked back up, "but someone has an apology to make to him."

Draco arched his eyebrows, but didn't say anything as the tone chastised him.

"Order me something, Draco, I'll be back in a minute," the Auror finished and headed to the swing doors of the mess' inner sanctum.

There was something odd about the kitchen as Harry headed in through the door marked 'IN', and it took him a moment to figure it out. Apart from the fact that it was teaming with waist-high persons all hurrying contentedly about their business, it finally struck him that it was the proportions of everything else that were wrong as well. All the work-surfaces were at elf level. This room had been designed for the industrious magical creatures, and Harry felt very out of place. However, the company seemed pleased-enough to see him, and he was given warm smiles by many as they ducked and dashed around the obstruction he quickly became. Soup went under one arm, roast beef under the other, and he was even handed a morsel of pie and asked to try it. All this before he had had a chance to try and identify his friend from among the crowd. As it was, Dobby, being the only elf wearing anything resembling proper garments, was not difficult to spot on the far side of the kitchen, a very large cleaver in one hand, while the other held a joint of ham as big as himself. After commending the proud chef on his culinary expertise, Harry headed over to his comrade while finishing the tasty bite.

"Dobby," he called and then winced as his diminutive friend turned at the same time as bringing down the cleaver, which missed his fingers by millimetres.

"Harry Potter!" the house elf bounced over to his visitor. "How may Dobby help you."

"Actually, I came to apologise for Draco's behaviour the other day, it put you in a very difficult position," Harry admitted, much to the little creature's surprise.

"Dobby had already forgotten about that, especially after Draco Malfoy behaved so heroically," Dobby dismissed.

However, the responsible Auror in Harry was not going to let go of the incident, despite any latter bravery by his charge.

"All the same, I think it would be good for Draco to say sorry to you himself," the young man explained. "If you wouldn't mind coming outside, he's waiting."

The elf didn't seem very sure about the whole idea, and paused a moment. Then his face spread into a grin again, and he nodded.

"Please allow Dobby to clean his hands, and then he will come with you."

"Thank you," Harry returned and watched his friend head to the sink.

A tugging on his robe caused the young man to turn around before Dobby came back, and he was a little surprised to see Malachi stood beside him, looking worried.

"What is it?" he asked immediately.

"Malachi does not know if anything is wrong, but he thought Harry Potter should know that someone just sat down at his table with Draco Malfoy," the unsure creature told him, and then dashed after his coat tails as Harry ran back to the door.

His heart in his throat and his wand in his hand, the Auror burst back through the 'IN' door. What he saw at his table froze him into indecision. If it had been Llewellyn or any of his cronies, Harry would have cast defensive charms without even thinking, but the person who had seated themselves opposite Draco was Seamus Finnigan. The Irishman was sat silently in front of his one-time enemy, and Draco was squinting at the figure, trying to work out who it was.

"I'm sorry," Draco informed his visitor, "I can't make you out."

That seemed to kick the man into action, and his tone sounded somewhat conflicted as he announced, "What you did, Malfoy, well done."

Then, very rapidly, Seamus stood up and walked away, leaving his host looking stunned.

* * *

Draco had actually been reduced to wordlessness by the unexpected praise, for at least ten seconds, after which point, he had not stopped talking, except to take a bite of food from time to time. He'd duly apologised to Dobby with all the Malfoy charm in place. He'd chatted to Malachi, so much so that one of the elf's other customers had had to call him away. He'd spoken to several people who had decided to follow Seamus' example. And through it all, Harry watched contentedly as his lover started finding his place amongst their fellows. The Auror interjected occasionally, but only to keep up Draco's momentum, otherwise he just enjoyed the delighted surprise of the ex-Dark Prince when he received a kind word, or a greeting spoken without fear or resentment. He ignored those whom Draco couldn't see, those who had not been so easily swayed by the honest heroism. They, thankfully kept away and said nothing.

When their dessert had arrived, Draco had begun a dissertation on the merits of the Great British pudding. He was about five minutes in, and Harry wasn't really listening, he was more intent on the way his companion was waving around a spoon of hot apple pie and custard. He hadn't scattered the contents of his bowl yet, and to be fair, Draco had grown quite adept at feeding himself blind, but that didn't stop Harry worrying about the possibility of scalding food going everywhere, especially given his partner's current exuberance.

Harry's eyes were tracking the spoon on its route from bowl to mouth, via a stop in mid-air for a mention of treacle sponge, when another visitor came up to their table, only this one had already expressed her thanks multiple times. Ginny was grinning from ear to ear as she sunk into a seat next to Draco and announced conspiratorially, "I know what you two have been doing," she teased, leaning over and ruffling Harry's still damp hair. "Honestly, you're worse than a pair of hormonal teenagers."

"Good afternoon to you too, Ginny," Harry smirked at the jibe, but didn't bother trying to straighten his hair, it never sat down anyway.

"Alright, so you have an excuse, Harry," she carried on with what was obviously a pre-thought idea. "You were so repressed after the fifth year that you're making up for lost time, but by all accounts, Draco, you were never so backward."

Draco laughed at the young woman's audacity, and lost all interest in the rest of his lunch as he returned, "As I remember, neither were you."

"A lady never tells," Ginny quipped back, and then chided, "and I don't believe I ever missed any appointments because I couldn't control myself."

"Touché," the Slytherin yielded, and apologised, "sorry, my fault."

"I'm sorry too," Harry added, despite the blame deflection.

"Hermione and I guessed, but we didn't mention our conclusions to Ron, he didn't take the whole not turning up very well as it was," the young woman explained and rolled her eyes.

"How many more flames do I have with him before the cauldron cracks?" Harry asked, a little anxious at the negligence towards his friend of which he had again been guilty.

"I think you're at your limit," she wrinkled her nose as she drew her sisterly conclusion. "You have to talk to him soon, Harry, else the damage is going to be irreparable."

"I know, I will," the young man promised.

"So, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Draco provided apt diversion, proving his character assessment was only mildly impaired by not being able to see.

"I come with a message," Ginny accepted the new track, "from Albus. He requests to see the both of you in his office at your convenience this afternoon. The password's 'toffee apple'."

"Know why?" Harry asked, but he was expecting the shake of red head.

"Nah, you know Albus," came the reply and dismissive wave of hand.

"Thanks anyway," Draco concluded, "so can you stay for a while?"

"Nope, I've been looking for you for ages and now I have to run, I'm meeting Minerva in a few minutes," the girl answered, and Harry saw a ghost of her nightmares in her face as the reason behind the private conference suggested itself to him.

He hid the pang that memories of Hogwarts gave him behind a rather too polite wipe of his napkin over his mouth. Ginny didn't seem to notice though, and she challenged heartily as she got to her feet, "Hermione and Ron are having a private meal in their new quarters tonight, and Dean is working, so can I at least expect you to meet me for dinner?"

"Promise," Harry nodded sincerely.

"Of course," Draco agreed.

"Great, see you then," their friend finished and was gone as quickly as she had arrived.


	47. Welcome News and Mended Bridges

When the Auror guided his charge into his office, Albus Dumbledore was sat behind his desk reading a very long parchment. He looked up at the new arrivals and smiled before greeting, "Ah, Harry, Draco, welcome. Please sit down."

The venue was different, and the two chairs were a little closer together than during the last meeting, but Harry got the same feeling of being before his headmaster. He had heard some of the best news and some of the worst news of his life in Dumbledore's office; this one was a little smaller than the former, and there were a few things missing, including Fawkes, who lived in his master's apartment, but the décor made him think of those times. The child had found refuge in his great mentor's world, the youth had wanted to run from the place, and the man had found solace during time of war. Now the look that the old man gave him told Harry that his news was serious, but not painfully so. Holding off any emotion, the Auror did his job, helped Draco to his seat and then sat down himself.

"Thank you for coming, Gentlemen," Albus wasted no time. "Firstly, may I express my gladness for you recovery, Draco, and may I apologise for not having visited your sick bed. However, there were other errands which I considered more pressing, and I hope that you will understand when I have offered my explanation."

The younger Malfoy just nodded, revealing his own nerves about the meeting.

"Draco, your act of selfless heroism has, shall we say, advanced the decisive wheels within our ranks," the wizard spoke calmly, but firmly. "I have been in conference with my fellows, and the reason that you have been released from the infirmary ahead of Madame Pomfrey's wishes is in order that you have some little time to prepare for your hearing."

"When?" Draco asked breathily, and Harry wasn't sure if his companion was happy-excited or scared out of his wits.

"Two days from now. Madame Pomfrey informs me that your sight will be sufficiently improved by that time such that with corrective measures you shall not be at any significant disadvantage," the ancient wizard continued. "You have a right to a defender. One will be appointed tonight if you wish to confer with them as soon as possible."

"Who will be asking the questions?" the prisoner asked, which seemed to surprise Dumbledore for a moment.

"A panel of those entrusted with the safety of our struggle," the man returned carefully, clearly not quite sure where the enquiry was leading.

"Will you be on that panel?" Draco was forced to be more direct, but Harry didn't see why he was asking the question.

"Yes," something seemed to have slipped into place for Dumbledore, because he was looking serene as he answered.

It didn't slip into place for Harry until Draco answered, "Then I have no need of word games, thank you. I trust I shall be given a fair hearing without them."

"Thank you for your confidence in me, Draco, but are you certain that this is wise?" Albus tested.

"I'm sure," the young man nodded firmly.

"As you wish, My Boy," the old man let the warmth of his smile into his voice. "Now, the exact list of those who will be asked to give accounts to the panel is not yet finalised, but there are not many within our reach who have first hand knowledge of your circumstances over the last five years. Apart from you, Harry will probably have the most input. Ginny also, and Severus has already asked to make statements on your behalf."

"Well, my fate is in honest hands," Draco smiled, but it was a ghostly gesture as his nerves showed.

Harry wanted to offer his support, say that everything was going to be alright, but at the thought of giving testimony, he knew his account could both damn and save his lover. Albus gave his mentee a look which said he had read the sentiment from the younger face, and he pressed on into the silence, "I do believe you could have no better witnesses, Draco. In addition there is much research which has been proceeding since you arrived here, which you will understand I cannot discuss in detail quite yet. However, I may suggest that there is no trusted source which discounts your statements thus far, and many which add credence to them."

"For once in my life, I have truth on my side," the younger Malfoy shrugged.

"Quite," the old man agreed, and then changed tack with, "and now I have imparted my news, may I offer either of you a cup of tea?"

"No thank you," Harry returned automatically, but his thoughts were still wandering over the idea of what he was going to be asked --Cruciatus came to mind.

"We just came from lunch, so no thank you," Draco explained more fully.

"Following your healer's orders and both eating well, I trust," Albus chatted, settling back into his chair as he raised his fingers contemplatively to his lips.

"Of course, we wouldn't dare not," Draco laughed as he kept the conversation going; however his glance across at his lover said that he had recognised the significance in his silence.

Dumbledore had seen the blind enquiry as well, and took action as he addressed directly, "So Harry, may I ask how your return to fitness is progressing? I understand that you are regularly visiting the gymnasium."

"Y-yes," Harry dragged himself out of his thoughts as both attentions rested on him. "Yes I am, and very well, thank you."

"And you are quite recovered from the somnolence caused by the wandless magic?" the wizard asked, and made his mentee double-take.

Harry had pretty much forgotten about the incident, having thrown himself into Draco-watching, and that it had been raised again caught him by surprise. Albus just smiled at him, his chin slightly lifted as he waited for an answer to his enquiry. However, Draco intercepted the moment as he asked, "Wandless magic?"

"Harry has not told you?" Dumbledore's tone lilted in muted surprise.

"I didn't think it was important," Harry defended himself, unsure about mentioning the strange occurrence.

"What did you do?" Draco sounded like a parent certain their child had gotten himself into trouble.

"When you were in a coma, I had a dream I was calling you, and that was when you started coming back," the young man gabbled, still feeling funny about the whole idea.

"And you thought this wasn't important?" Draco was incredulous.

"In all fairness, our assumption that the dream was a conduit for magic is unproven," Albus defended evenly, "and Harry is dubious of our conclusion."

"Well, I'll believe it," his lover stated firmly, and leant over to pat Harry's shoulder. "Thank you again Harry."

Harry brushed the offered hand with his own fingers, but said nothing as he doubted his worthiness of the gratitude.

"Harry," Albus drew his attention with his direct tone, and the young man could see the wisdom in his elder as he was told, "you have been through a great change these past weeks, much of which is due to the terrible treatment to which you were subjected at Hogwarts. However, do not discount all that has happened since then, for it may reveal even greater transformation than you expect."

Enigma was something you got used to if you spent any time around Albus Dumbledore, but Harry decided that the old man had surpassed himself this time. He didn't really know what to think about the sagely delivered advice, and so he just gave him mentor a hard stare.

* * *

Dinner had been a bit of a disaster: Draco had been deep in thought, about what, he didn't share, but Harry guessed it was the imminent interrogation he was facing, and he had barely touched his food; Ginny had been told she would be giving evidence and was similarly silent and worryingly white, and her plate was taken away nearly full as well; Harry himself had picked at his dinner, but the mixture of mysterious advice and the prospect of difficult times had meant that he too was mostly focused on his own thoughts. Neither of the couple felt much like sleeping, either, so they took the opportunity to practice. They had begun earnestly, but had ended up finding solace from their thoughts in sex. However, at three in the morning, still sleepless, hunger had finally caught up with the two men, and, since an ex-Death Eater wandering around in the middle of the night in his dressing gown was probably not advisable, Harry had left his lover meditating while he went to find some food for them both. Night-attired himself, Harry chose not to enter the main food-hall, but instead to head round to the back door of the kitchen he had spied that day during his visit to see Dobby.

However, when Harry wandered into the still busy kitchen, he found out that someone else had had the same idea. Stood by a counter in a dog-eared old dressing gown giving his order to an attentive house elf was Ron Weasley. As he saw him, all the awkward feeling between them caught Harry by surprise. Ron was engrossed in his task, and for a second, Harry considered fleeing before he was noticed. Yet, the young man knew that most of the difficulties were his fault, and he remembered his promise to Ginny that day. This was a good opportunity for mending some bridges, and feeling a little strange, Harry decided to make himself known.

"Evening, Ron," he greeted as smoothly as possible.

His best friend actually jumped at the greeting, and when he looked over to Harry, his heart skipped a beat at the startled expression that he had generated. It settled after a moment, and Ron smiled, more or less.

"Hello Mate," the redhead started automatically, but Harry could see the furious thoughts behind his eyes trying to find something to say afterwards.

The instigator was not about to make this encounter any more awkward than his guilt told him he had already made it, and so he leapt in with, "So why are you wandering this place in the dead of night?"

"Couldn't sleep," slipped out from Ron before he'd thought about it, but then he looked conflicted about whatever confession he was about to make.

"Me neither," Harry tried again, shrugging in what he hoped was nonchalance. "Things bothering you?"

The redhead paused, clearly considering his thoughts before he answered, but to his friend's relief he nodded and explained, "We heard from Mum and Dad this evening. They're safe, but it's gonna be a while before they can get here -- too much Death Eater activity around."

"That's probably down to me and Draco," Harry spoke with the ease of friendship, but then realised he had said the wrong thing as Ron's face clouded.

It wasn't anger in his best friend's face, or at least not conscious anger, but the mention of Draco conjured frustration and something else that Harry wasn't sure about. Ron looked away before he could decipher more, and the young man couldn't think of what to say to make it better. Silence fell as both men struggled for words. Ron was rescued by the return of the elf to whom he had given his order. The little creature was burdened with a tray holding two wrapped parcels, and Ron announced loudly as he took the offerings, "Hermione will be waiting for her sandwich."

He nodded his thanks to the house elf, then he turned, his eyes focused on his packets and headed to the exit. Harry just watched, caught out by the abrupt dismissal -- that was until his best friend disappeared out of the door. The flight made him angry, and upset and defensive and at the same time needy for his comrade's company. All his emotions bubbling up, Harry dashed after Ron. The redhead had not progressed very far up the corridor when Harry burst through the doors, and feeling the most direct he had for a long time, Harry called after him, "Ron, don't run away."

Accusing Ron Weasley of anything close to cowardice was a sure way to getting a rise, and, shoving the sandwiches one into each pocket of his dressing gown, he turned round and defended hotly, "I was not running away."

"Yes you were," his friend was not feeling like backing down. "We've been running away from each other since I got back, and its just getting worse."

"And whose fault is that?!"

Harry had flicked a switch in Ron, and as he stalked back up the hallway, he could see the flames beginning to rise. He hadn't intended to start a fight, but the young man couldn't stop his emotions now he had opened the flood gates. His friend's difficulties with Draco made him feel dirty, and he fired back, "It isn't me who has a problem with Draco Malfoy."

"I might not have a problem if you'd just consider someone other than yourself or him for a second!" Ron snapped, his voice getting louder as he stopped a few feet away, and little patches on his face was beginning to match the colour of his hair.

"He nearly died, twice," Harry defended his lover hotly, even as part of himself admitted that he had been selfish about his own position. "You'd have preferred it if I'd just walked away?"

"I'd have preferred it if you'd talked to me instead of yelling all the time," the Weasley temper was in full force now: it was the redhead's turn to do the yelling.

"Well you haven't exactly made it easy, either. All those furtive glances and silences, it's been like talking to a bloody brick wall. Are you surprised I got frustrated?"

"I tried my damndest to be there when you were ill, but you just kept on losing your temper!"

"Well I've had rather a lot in my cauldron, so excuse me for not being even tempered," Harry growled, unable to stop his anger.

"It's been bloody awful for everyone, Harry, grow up!" Ron struck back, not much coherence behind his shout.

"Oh is that it? Are you part of the Llewellyn camp -- I can't possibly understand what it's been like because I've been hiding away from it all, safe and sound in America?!" the half-guilty young man screamed back. "We didn't have to be here to suffer! You were dead, all my friends were out of reach and I just had to put up with it."

"And I watched them fall!" the redhead challenged.

"You think I didn't want to come back?" Harry countered as the shame he had felt since being dragged out of battle came through full force. "I took the children to safety and I tried to come back, but they wouldn't let me. Six of them hit me with stunners, I didn't wake up for a week!"

Ron didn't yell back, in fact he just stood there, his mouth lightly open as the emotion hit him. Harry stared back, breathing hard as all he had said caught up with him. The tension was too much, and the young man saw the crack of a smile on his best friend's face before he heard, "Really, a week?"

It was a very odd moment, as the humour in the redhead's tone conflicted with the weight of three years of division, but Harry felt it push up through it all, and he smirked as he corrected, "Well, four days."

That was it, Ron laughed and Harry followed. There was nothing very funny about that part of his history, not when he thought about all the pain and sorrow that accompanied it, but in the release, the absurdity of the argument enveloped both men, and they giggled like school children. Nothing was said, the laughter was stop start as they sniggered and then controlled themselves and then corpsed again, but it was so much better as a conduit for his pent-up frustrations than the yelling had been that Harry just let it happen.

Eventually, Ron glanced over his best friend's shoulder and, through a stifled snort, observed, "We have an audience."

Harry turned, and was greeted by at least a dozen house elves piled on each other as they leant out of the kitchen door. As one, they gasped and all the heads disappeared in pops of magic. The distraction calmed the slightly manic need for laughter in Harry, and when he looked back at Ron, he was calm again. Quietly, he offered, "Want to talk it through?"

He was glad when there was absolutely no pause for thought; his best friend just nodded.

* * *

The house elves were most eager to help after their eavesdropping, and a little body had come rushing out when the men had thought about finding somewhere else to talk. A table was waiting for them in a suddenly quiet corner of the kitchen, loaded with butterbeer and everything required for a midnight feast. The friends looked at each other and it was Ron who commented, "Do you think they think we're still twelve."

"Well from the row we were making, maybe they were justified," Harry joked and enjoyed the comfortable feeling it gave him.

They smiled at each other and sat down. Since he had instigated the whole thing, Harry started this new part of the conversation honestly as he offered, "I'm sorry I've been so difficult since I got back."

"Yeah, you have really," Ron chided, but he was grinning as he said it.

"It's been really strange, being back but being sidelined," the Auror explained simply.

"Try being officially dead for a while, then tell me about being sidelined," his comrade rolled his eyes, and then parroted, "'No Ron you can't do that, there's a risk you'll be seen.' I haven't seen my girls in three months because its been too risky."

"You miss them a lot," Harry stated with sympathy.

"Every minute," Ron agreed, sighing into his butterbeer; he took a gulp and continued, "It was hell those first few months. It was bad after the battle, they showed no mercy, and only a few of us managed to escape into the forest. Hermione and I got separated in a fire fight, and I ended up in a group with Minerva and Albus. Everyone thought we'd been killed, but Albus had got us out of the way of the biggest blast curse you have ever seen before it went off. We had to hide in the forest for weeks, and I didn't know if Hermione was alive or dead. By the time we got out of there, she'd had to go through the whole finding out she was pregnant and facing being a single parent. Since then we've taken every chance to be a family together."

"I missed you guys so much," the outcast admitted, but sat on the easy jealousy of the young family he was risking as he let his emotions go. "When I woke up from the stunners they told me about the battle and that you were all gone and I lost it. Voldemort's detection grid was in place by then, but I would have apparated straight back, but they'd been careful to let me no where near my wand. They locked me down for weeks, and by the time their healers and politicians had finished, I was the obedient little lap dog they wanted. I just didn't care anymore."

"I'm sorry we couldn't let you know, Mate, but we knew they were watching you, both sides."

Harry just nodded; his brain understood, but his heart was still having trouble reconciling the deceptions with which he had had to live. Ron stared at the table for a while, and Harry couldn't think of anything to say, so he just watched the thoughtful face. Even after three years, he still knew his friend, and he knew he was working out how to say something. It came out awkwardly, but honestly as the man asked, "Why did you, y'know, say yes to coming back?"

Harry knew instantly from where in his admission the thought had come; if anyone else had suggested he had not cared about trading his life, Harry would have decked them, but instead, he just showed his shock at the insinuation and countered, "I wasn't suicidal, if that's what you mean."

Ron looked hurt for a moment, and then guilty, and he pressed on quickly, "No, I know that wasn't all of it, but it's just I know how I was when I thought Hermione was gone. Minerva had to force me to eat."

It was Harry's turn to stare at the grain of the table as he thought about all the grand statements of sacrifice he had made to his interrogators when they had asked him why, and then he considered that maybe his honest companion was right. He'd cut himself off from deep emotion a long time ago, and the isolation of exile had only intensified that barrier of self-protection. Had this pilgrimage been the last step in that journey?

"Don't think about it too hard, Mate," his comrade cajoled, sounding worried. "I'm not trying to make what you did sound small. I think what you did was one of the most selfless things I've ever heard of. I don't know what I would have done faced with the same thing."

"You'd have done the same as me," Harry almost snapped back, not knowing if he was supporting his friend or defending himself. The startled look on Ron's face made him settle, and he apologised, "Sorry, I think my temper is one of the changes in me Albus keeps harping on about. Along with the new instincts and being bisexual," Ron's face show his instant embarrassment at that mention and with a wry smile Harry finished, "and of course the runaway mouth. You're really not comfortable with me and Draco, are you?"

The redhead looked like he might run for it, but Harry held his breath and hoped his honesty would not betray him. It took Ron a few moments to compose himself, and then he frowned. Slowly, he began, "It shouldn't be a problem. It's that I got used to you being, being..."

"What, a lady's man?" the Auror laughed and observed, "I was never really that, was I? As Ginny so quaintly put it, I was repressed."

"Well you certainly picked a forceful way of unrepressing," Ron rolled his eyes and dunked a biscuit in his beer. "I mean, Malfoy?! And in front of everyone?!"

"That wasn't all my fault," Harry defended, but he wasn't too bothered with the blame.

"Both my sister and my wife have been ear-bashing me as well, saying that I should be happy for you, that you're in love. Are you really?" his best friend barrelled on, and the look on his face said that he had kept going for fear of not getting the question out otherwise.

"Yes," the young man answered, smiling to himself as he remembered that morning.

Ron seemed dubious, but he didn't argue, he just frowned some more and admitted, "Well, all I can say is that you and Malfoy is going to take some getting used to, but I am trying, I promise."

"If you can put up with my tantrums, then I can give you some time to get used to my love life," Harry offered with a wink, and raised his tankard.

"Done," his best friend grinned, and knocked his own glass against Harry's so hard that the contents spilled out over the table.


	48. A Lack Of Objectivity

It was the morning of the hearing, and Harry was worried about his lover. It wasn't that he was dressed from head to foot in black, that was normal for the ex-Dark Prince, who never failed to make an impact with his appearance. It wasn't that he was grumpy about having to wear red-tinted spectacles provided by Poppy, which she had designed to counteract most of what remained of the Contagio Malefica; well actually it was, but only because it was about that which was all he seemed concerned. Draco hadn't spoken once about the imminent interrogation. Any attempt by the Auror to discuss the facts let alone any feelings towards them had been met with diversion or outright annoyance. Harry hadn't pressed the matter, since they had both been tense enough as it was, and so he was now leading his charge to the hearing in uncomfortable silence, neither his concerns for his lover nor his testimony addressed.

Harry had been shown where to bring his prisoner the previous day, and when he recognised the hallway as that which led to the hearing chamber, he finally couldn't take the wall that Draco had been building, and he brought their party to a halt. The younger Malfoy looked slightly surprised to have his thoughts interrupted as Harry turned to him, but he said nothing nor tried to move on.

"Draco, I don't care if you get annoyed, but I am going to say this anyway," Harry began firmly. "What happened between you and I at Hogwarts before we became friends, it doesn't matter anymore, it hasn't mattered since you saved my sanity at that banquet, and I will do everything I can to make them see that."

The Slytherin smiled, but shook his head at the heartfelt admission and returned, "Thank you for your loyalty, Harry, but we just have to stick to the facts, the truth, and let the panel make up its mind. What I did to you, I did of my own volition, and nothing can change that. It has to stand with everything else. Don't belittle what happened, or try to lie for me, promise?"

The young man bit his lip and let his worry show as his lover oozed matter-of-fact confidence; Draco stroked his arm, whatever anxieties he had well hidden behind his present mask, and he repeated, "Promise me."

"I won't lie," Harry agreed, hoping that the partial oath would satisfy some concerns of his partner even if he couldn't see them.

"I'm not going to get you to be objective about this, am I?" Draco sighed, and his façade slipped for a second, just enough for Harry to see his nerves.

It was the Auror's turn to be strong, and he drew up a smile which he hoped would be as convincing as his partner's pretence.

"I'm a Gryffindor," he answered, patting the hand that was still resting on his arm, "what did you expect? You got my whole heart, remember? Anyway, Madame Bones already knows what I'm like, so do half the panel. I've been through a lot of this before, there shouldn't be any surprises."

Draco nodded, but he didn't look totally convinced; then again, neither was Harry. He remembered how easily the interrogators had found his temper during their initial interviews, and he was worried about how little or how much it would take for him to fly off the handle. When visibly ill, it might have been excused, but now his mental weaknesses had to be held behind the professional face of an Auror, and that meant self-discipline that the young man was not sure he still had. Yet, there was nothing he could do about it now; he was up first, since, as Draco's guard, he was to stay in the hearing chamber throughout unlike the other witnesses who were not to be present so as not to prejudice any testimony. So, Harry gave Draco what he hoped was a supportive look, and then he took a sure step towards their destination.

* * *

There were two more Aurors in their everyday duty robes on guard outside the hearing chamber. One disappeared to announce the prisoner's arrival, while the second regarded Draco with disdain. The younger Malfoy gave not an inch as he gazed back with a calculated look which said he couldn't have cared less. The detainee's back was straight, and the set of his features was determined; Harry knew he would only get occasional glimpses behind the mask from now on, so he straightened his own shoulders as well. As the double doors were drawn open, Auror and charge entered the room side by side, heads held high. Harry wasn't really looking at the company that was waiting for them, instead he just followed the procedure that Dumbledore had run through with him the day before, and escorted his prisoner to the centre of the room. Only as he brought their journey to a halt did the young man look up at platform on which the panel were seated behind a long table, and then he battled to stop his nerves from showing on his face.

There were eight members of the decision-making process, four from the Order of the Phoenix and four from the Resistance. Professor Dumbledore and Madame Bones sat side by side in the centre of the group, with their lieutenants in the form of Malcolm Jordan and Minerva McGonagall at their sides. Moody and Remus were welcome sights on the Order's end of the table, but the last two Resistance personnel were in the Dementer-like robes which still gave Harry the creeps. He didn't dare look to his friend to judge how he was taking the presentation. The young Auror blotted out his personal feelings for the moment, knowing that they weren't useful, and pressed on with the formality as he announced, "Auror Potter reporting with Draco Malfoy as ordered."

"Thank you, Auror," Amelia took charge of her subordinate. "Please install the prisoner."

Harry didn't like the reference used, but he hid his overactive defence mechanisms and conducted Draco to a waiting booth to the right of the panel. The Auror swung open the small gate in its side, and his charge stepped through the opening into the small dock that it delimited. Draco reached a little hastily for the front of the stall, and Harry's stomach lurched, but as he caught himself, Harry resisted the urge to enter the box and offer assistance, instead he relied on a glance from his lover which told him that he was alright. It was the new glasses; the magic in them interacted with Draco's own to try and correct the problems that remained with his vision, and from time to time, their effects were taking him by surprise. It had only been Draco's stubborn want to see properly that had stopped Poppy from lowering their power levels. Harry was not the only one to see Draco's failing, and Albus asked evenly, "Mr Malfoy, are you unwell?"

"No, thank you, Sir," the wizard replied. "It is these glasses. I am unused to their influence and I am overly sensitive to magical fields at the moment."

"Then why wear them?" a defensive female voice Harry recognised as Ms Rough-Rock came from one of the hoods.

"So that I may see you as you see me," Draco inclined his head politely as he delivered the subtle jibe at the disguise and then slowly straightened back up to his full height; Harry didn't know if he was trying to be intimidating, but the calm, strong façade certainly impressed him and he suspected that the consummate player was being deliberate.

Allowing himself to feel a little pride at his lover's impressive demeanour, Harry closed the booth's gate and took up his allotted place beside it. Technically, Harry shouldn't have been on duty, since he was also a witness, however, the issue of his knack of counteracting Draco's magic had been brought up at a timely juncture by Albus when discussing Harry's part in the proceedings, and as Harry had agreed to the guard duty right next to his lover for the entire hearing, he had had the distinct impression that his mentor had been pre-planning in his favour again.

Once all was still, Madame Bones opened the proceedings. Grandly, she stood up and turned to her captive.

"Draco Malfoy, you have been brought before this panel to ascertain, if any, what links you hold with our Enemy, the present government of our land. Do you understand and accept the authority of this court?"

"Yes."

"Then be seated, this tribunal is now in session."

Draco sat down with slightly too much speed for Harry's concern; the infection had made his lover more susceptible to external influence, a fact they had found out when he had first put on the suppression bracelet to leave his hospital room, and, although it seemed to have no lasting effects, in the current situation, Harry was hypersensitive to the way in which his partner was paler than he should have been. Yet, the Auror was distracted from one anxiety to another, as he was addressed directly by Albus.

"Auror Potter, are you ready to take the stand?"

The way in which he was being regarded told the mentee that his sideways glance of concern had been noted by his rock.

"Yes, Sir," he returned firmly, and was ready for the raised dais and lectern which appeared where he and Draco had been standing only moments ago; resolutely, the young man steeled himself and walked towards the podium.

Once on the spot, he looked around at the serious faces regarding him, pausing on the featureless hoods as he took a leaf out of his partner's book for effect.

"Auror Potter, this hearing requires that you speak the truth, so charged, are you willing?" Amelia intoned.

"I am willing," the witness agreed, and took a deep breath.

Silence fell for a moment as quills were lifted and a few quick scratchings made at the top of each panel-member's first sheet of parchment. Harry noted that an automatic-recording quill and pad were also suspended just behind Albus and Amelia taking full dissertation of the proceedings. It was Dumbledore who looked up from his task first, and his brow was lightly furrowed as he began, "Auror Potter, I fear my first enquiry may seem intrusive. However, I feel that it is necessary to eliminate any confusion and rumour from these proceedings at the earliest juncture. For those here not already acquainted with the facts, please describe your relationship to Draco Malfoy."

The young man had been expecting this question; its early appearance took him a little by surprise, but Harry understood why Albus had begun with it -- better all his testimony be coloured by the same brush than have the revelation popping up later as if it had been hidden. Before Tonks' enlightenment, Harry would have had trouble with such a description, however, now his words came simply and clearly as he stated, "I love him."

It became swiftly obvious who was not already in the know, as Ms Rough-Rock barked, "And what precisely does that mean?"

"We are lovers," the young man returned.

"How long has this been going on?" the male 'Dementer' appeared calmer, at least in voice, but his question was earnest.

"The relationship started at Hogwarts."

"And you did not see fit to include this in your earlier testimony?"

"This matter has already been addressed to my satisfaction," Amelia cut in before any more accusations could fly.

"But he is sleeping with his prisoner," Rough-Rock protested.

"The circumstances of Auror Potter's appointment as Draco Malfoy's guard were exceptional, but it was deemed necessary, and this point is not under review here," Albus's smooth, but authoritative tones stopped any argument dead. "This information is confidential and revealed here only in order that there be no misunderstandings of intent."

Harry wasn't too happy with the stiff way in which the female hood sat back in her chair; he could feel her hostility even without seeing it. However, he was grateful for Albus and Amelia's intervention, since he did not relish the idea of a second inquisition. Amelia moved the proceedings on as she announced, "Now that the current situation has been disclosed, I suggest we return to the chronological beginning of your re-acquaintance with Draco Malfoy, Auror Potter. Please tell us when you first saw Mr Malfoy at Hogwarts."

The young man drew his mind back to the awful day when his torture had begun, and his body went cold, despite any attempt he had made to steel himself against the memories.

"It was my first day in the tower. Lucius had left me to recover from his initial attacks," Harry began, trying to sound as collected as possible. "I was chained to a chair in the main chamber, and Draco came in with Crabbe escorting him. We exchanged taunts."

"What form did these taunts take?" Malcolm asked, as quills scraped on parchment from every direction.

"They were childish, like we were back at school," the young man clarified, still trying to maintain his cool.

"What did you think of Malfoy at this point?" Moody came in next, and Harry knew any reaction was under close scrutiny from his colleague.

"I thought he was the same spoilt brat I'd known at school," Harry paused in that thought, and wondered at how wrong he had been.

"Did your opinion change?" Remus prompted.

"Yes," he snapped back to the present. "He was very angry with me for something. He started ranting about being the Heir Apparent, and then he had Crabbe throw some curses at me."

"Why did he not cast them himself?" Amelia asked quickly and deliberately.

"Draco didn't have a wand, he never had a wand when I saw him at Hogwarts."

Harry bit his tongue when no-one asked for his opinion on why Draco did not have a wand -- Draco had not been the only one to offer him advice about giving evidence, and one thing had been certain, he was not meant to give opinion unless asked.

"What curses were used?" Rough-Rock's unidentified companion asked bluntly.

To be honest, Harry really couldn't remember, so he returned through gritted teeth, "I don't recall. All I remember is that they hurt, a lot, and Crabbe also used his fists."

"Did you know at this point about what Mr Malfoy was angry?" Minerva diverted gently.

"No, I didn't find out until much later that Voldemort intended to take Draco's body with the Orb of Eternity."

"And how did you find out?" came from the Resistance end of the table again.

"Draco told me."

"And you believed him?"

The question was meant to be disparaging of his gullibility, and Harry's defences raised a little more than they should have. He struggled to stop his frustration coming out in his manner, and he wasn't sure if he succeeded as he addressed the hostility directly.

"I'd already seen enough to convince me he wasn't lying. I escaped from my cell a few nights after I arrived at Hogwarts, and I hid in the Great Hall," Harry barrelled on before anyone could stop him. "I saw how they put magic into Draco, and how he was before the ceremony, when he thought no-one was watching."

"How did he seem to you?" Remus' voice was sympathetic as the emotions began to build up in Harry, even as he tried to put them down.

"In despair," the young man answered, his voice trailing off, and he risked a glance over at his lover; Draco was sat still, silent, observing, but his fixed expression told Harry everything he needed to know; he hoped his eyes apologised for him as he dragged back the sickening memories.

"Upon what did you base this opinion?" Rough-Rock's tone was again critical.

"Personal experience," the witness hissed back at her.

"Are you saying that you saw yourself in Malfoy?" Amelia showed her incredulity as well as her insight.

"I didn't want to, not then, but yes, I did," Harry let a shiver run right up his spine as he admitted the loneliness and desperation he had felt that night.

"And yet Malfoy tortured you at least twice more," Malcolm observed, glancing at what must have been notes from his previous interrogation.

"As I said, I didn't want to," the young man answered, grappling with the mixture of old emotions and new defensiveness, and battening it all down; he hardened his voice out of necessity as he continued, "The next time, Draco came to my cell. We got into an argument."

"What did Mr Malfoy do to you?" Albus surprised his mentee as he dug that little bit deeper to the difficult thoughts.

The young man couldn't help the accusation that he sent back at his old friend as it joined his growing defiance.

"He told me he was my master," Harry battled with the degradation that came welling back to the surface, "and..." he looked down at the lectern, unable to face the eight pairs of eyes on him.

"Take you time, Harry," it was Minerva who offered some understanding from the bench, and he looked up at her sympathetic gaze.

"Draco attacked me, forced me into a kiss and started to grope me," came out very fast, and not pausing for breath, he countered, "but he backed off before he'd gone too far, once he'd intimidated me enough."

"Enough for what?" Moody was frowning past his subject at Draco as he asked the question.

"To make his point. To show me I was bottom of the heap," Harry grasped onto some indignant defiance as he replied, and he straightened his back, glaring at the old Auror.

"This wasn't the last time Malfoy used sexual intimidation, was it?" the hooded man took his opportunity to open the wound that was so obvious in his witness.

"No," Harry answered, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn.

He paused, trying to gather his thoughts about the second meeting in the torture chamber into some coherency. However, his two hostile questioners were not going to allow him that time, they wanted raw reaction, and they prodded quickly, "In what situation did this attack take place."

"After Lucius had left," the young man hoped that would be enough to infer everything, as vulnerability took over.

"Please be more precise, I wish to understand under what conditions Malfoy attacked you," Rough-Rock was proving a formidable and ruthless opponent.

"I was naked and strapped down to a table," Harry growled back, his humiliation growing. "I was unconscious, and I was woken by Draco."

"Why did he wake you?" Malcolm did not seem to want to cause pain, in fact, he seemed uncomfortable with the aggressive nature of his colleagues as he glanced in their direction.

"To play," the witness replied. "There was a woman with him and Crabbe, called Melody, and Draco was showing off to her."

"How?" Moody pressed, leaning forward, his eye spinning as he remained ever watchful.

"He threatened me, made me say hello to Melody, and then he jumped onto the table and began to touch me and he taunted me. He was showing me who was in charge again, but when I challenged him, he backed off again."

"How did you challenge him?" Albus slipped in the question, and its significance did not pass Harry by.

"I told him he was just like his father," the young man returned quickly. "It really shook him, and he backed off."

"Are you trying to tell us that being associated with Lucius Malfoy was something which bothered Draco Malfoy, even then?" Minerva clarified carefully.

"Yes," Harry rammed the point home.

"So that was it?" Dementer number one asked, knowing full well from the last interview that it wasn't.

Harry glowered at him, trying to remind himself that these people were only doing their job, but feeling the personal disdain of the man none-the-less.

"No, Melody wanted to be entertained. She said she liked it when a man screamed, so Draco told Crabbe," he paused -- of all that had been done, he was about to mention the only thing which under law was unforgivable, and he didn't want to say it. Yet he had promised no lies, and so quietly, he continued before there was a risk he would have to be prompted, "Draco told Crabbe to use Cruciatus."

"So Malfoy used an unforgivable curse on you just to impress a woman?" Rough-Rock dug in her claws with relish.

"Yes," Harry answered simply, knowing there was no disguising it, or the interpretation others chose.

"When did the situation change," Albus again broke the tension and moved the questioning along.

"I was taken to be the entertainment at a banquet Lucius was giving," the young man launched, anxious now about the enmity of the Resistance members to Draco, and wanting to make them understand. "Lucius allowed any witch or wizard who wanted to join in to cast whatever they liked at me. I don't know how long it had gone on, but Draco stopped it."

"Please describe how this happened," it was Amelia this time who asked for clarification.

"Draco had been watching me all evening, he was fixated," Harry explained, glancing across at his lover again, and seeing a very similar, if less aggressive mask than the one he remembered from that evening. "But when I looked at him the last time, he wasn't looking back. Lucius invited another person to pick a curse, but Draco stood up and said that he was bored."

"Was he bored?" Remus cut in.

"No, I think he'd had enough, couldn't take anymore," the admission made the young man go cold as he tried to hide the murderous edge that had been in his lover that night.

"And on what do you base this opinion?" the male hood demanded.

"I saw him snap, it was difficult to miss," Harry answered hotly.

"And yet everybody else apparently did, because they allowed him to throw a knife at you," Rough-Rock challenged, also showing a little temper.

"No-one else was looking at him that closely. I know what I saw, and what Draco told me later confirmed it. He had wanted to stop them playing games."

"And so he chose to injure you? How very insane."

"I don't think anyone would have responded to 'stop it'," Harry defended, disliking this woman more and more. "Draco was working with the very insane options open to him, and it worked, he got me out of that hell hole for six days."

"During which time you did what?" Amelia still didn't sound all that approving of his relationship with Draco as she clearly addressed the point.

"We talked, mainly," the young man began, trying to lift the base view his superior clearly had of that time. "It started on trivia, safe things, but we had too much in common not to share more serious thoughts. We talked about what had happened since school. Draco told me about what he was destined for, how alone he was, and how he'd tried to escape, but had been punished each time until he stopped trying. He also told me that he'd attempted suicide more than once. When nothing worked, he'd gone wild and stopped caring."

"And you made him care again?" it was Albus who interjected that thought.

"I made him think about it all again, I suppose," Harry postulated. "My treatment was more physically brutal, but mentally speaking, we were on a par."

"It was during this period that, by your own admission, Malfoy seduced you, wasn't it?" Madame Bones tested; Harry gave the affirmative and she continued, "Is it not possible that the 'admissions' were merely part of that seduction?"

"That is what Lucius insisted," the young man flared at the suggestion, recalling the defiance he had needed to resist the damning reasoning. "I woke up the next morning and Draco wasn't there. Then they came to take me back to the tower. I didn't see Draco for days, and when I did I found out why. He slipped in to talk to me and there was a ghost-scar down his face."

"Where did this scar come from?" Minerva asked.

"I guessed it was Lucius who had beaten him, and Draco said it was. He said that Lucius always made sure the marks would heal, especially since Voldemort had laid his claim to his body," Harry growled, disgusted by the thought.

"So you inferred that Draco was familiar with this type of beating from his father?" Malcolm clarified.

"Yes."

"What else did you discuss at this meeting?" the lieutenant continued.

"Nothing much, we just tried to keep each other going. We were both pretty low," he shrugged.

"What was Mr Malfoy risking by visiting you?" Albus diverted smoothly.

"Neither of us knew at the time," Harry replied, trying to stay matter-of-fact, but he could feel the horror of Lucius' revenge creeping up on him, and he confessed, "Draco didn't know that his movements were being tracked, but they must have known what he'd done very quickly. Lucius was in a fury when he came and got me. I think he had to use the Ennervate charm on me after he pushed False Fire too far."

"So you were punished for Draco's disobedience?" Rough-Rock didn't miss a chance to see the negative.

"It wasn't as simple as that," the defender countered, his temper rising again. "I was taken back downstairs to the main chamber, and Crabbe brought Draco in as well. Lucius said that since Draco seemed to want to spend time in the tower, that he should be more involved in the torture. When Draco objected, they hurt me. Lucius told us that if Draco didn't obey him, I'd suffer. I told him not to listen, that they'd do it anyway."

"And what did Malfoy do?" Moody was still leant heavily on the desk, not taking notes, well not written ones anyway.

"After Lucius' demonstration, Draco was allowed to leave," Harry spoke quietly as he recalled the loss he had felt then.

The moment was cut right through by a scornful observance from the male 'Dementer', "Malfoy ran away?"

"It was that or watch me being tortured instead of him," the young man spat back, his voice rising now. "What would you have chosen?!"

"And did this 'demonstration' have any consequences?" Professor Dumbledore again calmed the waters by moving the questioning along.

"Yes," Harry said as he deliberately dragged his attention away from his antagonist and concentrated on the serene gaze of his friend. "After Lucius had finished with me, I was taken to the infirmary to be healed. Draco broke in, came over to my bed and put my wand under the mattress. He then told me that it would end that night. He didn't get a chance to say anymore, because Lucius came in. He and Draco fought. Draco said he didn't have a father and that he wasn't a chattel to be given away to the Dark Lord. Then Crabbe dragged him out."

"And that was the night you escaped?" Remus noted.

"Yes, Draco came and got me -- I would never have been able to walk unaided."

"So what use were you on the way out?" the cynic in Moody came out as he insinuated at the calculations of any good Slytherin.

"Draco couldn't use a wand with the bind runes in place," Harry answered cleanly, letting any interpretation stand. "I cast any defensive spells we needed."

"Once you were brought to this base, you had no contact with Draco Malfoy until the decision to remove the runes was made," Amelia stated for the record. "During this procedure, however, Malfoy used aggressive, compulsive magic against you, did he not?"

"When an assimilation technique was interrupted, yes," Harry qualified.

"And could this happen again, and endanger others?" Malcolm joined his superior in concern for their citizens.

"Draco's strength makes any accidents more potent than those of a normal wizard," Harry defended, "but we are as careful as we can be when he is practising. He has done no harm deliberately, in fact he has proved himself to have been a selfless asset during the Contagio Malefica incident."

"Yes, thank you, Auror, we will be coming to that," Madame Bones reprimanded him lightly for his eagerness.

"Yes, for now, I feel this hearing should understand the nature of these accidents?" the hooded witch demanded.

Harry looked to those already aware of their nature, unwilling to go into detail again. The group of six leant together for conference, surprising their remaining two colleagues if the whispering from that end of the table was anything to go by. The disguised wizard interrupted his comrade's exchange as he guessed, "Does this have to do with the sexual relationship between Malfoy and Potter?"

"The first incident does, yes," the young man felt his hackles rising again. "It is why I was the target of Draco's magic, but the only other serious occurrence was to do with his unfortunate reaction to Dreamless Sleep Potion, which released his magic without his conscious consent. The first incident was resolved when the assimilation was completed, and the second I contained until the potion wore off. All latter incidents in which I have been involved have been very minor compared to even accidents that are considered acceptable in the classroom."

"So you are trying to tell us that Draco Malfoy, the Dark Prince, is less dangerous than a school child?" it was Moody who threw the ridicule, and Harry glared at him.

"Being powerful does not automatically make Draco dangerous," the young man argued as he went straight for the bait.

"It does if he's a Death Eater, Lad," the wily old Auror threw back at him, and then slumped away into his seat, clearly not interested in any response.

Harry just fumed silently.

"Thank you, Gentlemen," Amelia took control, and chivvied, "And now we shall cover the incident about which you seemed so eager to tell us, Auror. What was Draco Malfoy's part in the containment of the Contagio Malefica?"

"When Hermione Weasley first appeared in the Mess, and then Ron and Ginny Weasley became infected as well, Draco and I both identified the curse as Contagio Malefica, and I ordered everyone back," the Auror felt much better about this recollection, despite the terrible inception, and he decided to ignore Moody in favour of his superior. "Draco then told me he could help, I decided that he was right, so I released the suppression bracelet and asked if he could Apparate us all to sick bay. He said he hadn't done it in so long he might splinch us all, so I asked him to boost my magic to allow me to do it. He did. I was infected quickly and I went down as well, and the next thing I remember clearly was seeing Draco drawing the infection out of all of us and into himself. He collapsed, and I had to use Ennervate to get him to breathe."

"So Mr Malfoy risked his life for others?" Albus clarified again.

"Most definitely," Harry agreed.

A momentary pause followed, which turned into a silence as it became clear no-one else had anything to ask. Harry greeted Albus' glance at Amelia and then his nod to him with some relief, especially when the wizard dismissed him with, "Thank you, Auror Potter, you may return to your post."

He turned quickly and headed back to the side of the booth. Draco looked at him once, but his emotions were all hidden; still the young man smiled at him supportively, trying to hide his own disquiet about how the interview had gone. He wasn't sure whether his testimony had largely helped to condemn or clear Draco. The smile was gone in his own professional mask as the Auror swivelled on the spot and faced the rest of the hearing. It was then, only as he tried to relax into a comfortable standing position that Harry realised how much the tension had taken out of him. His shoulders complained where they had been held taut, and his temples were pounding -- in short, he felt like he'd been three rounds with a hellcat.

"Harry," Albus' voice drew his attention, which was much more interested in remaining upright; the old man smiled at him, drew his wand, cast something under his breath and then told him, "Sit down."

Harry did draw his lover's anxious attention as he crashed down into the seat which materialised behind him, but he was the only one watching as Albus distracted masterfully, "Shall we call out next witness?"

The young man was grateful for the honest reaction from Draco, and he met the concern with another smile which he hoped said that he was alright.


	49. The Dark Prince Revealed

Once Draco had turned back to the proceedings, Harry had slumped in his seat and tried to will his headache away. Ginny was up next, and by the time Harry had got his thoughts back together and realised guiltily that he hadn't even looked up at his friend as she came in, it was too late, the young woman was already on the stand and facing the intimidating panel. He stifled the unproductive remorse at not having given a better impression, and began to pay more attention as Albus started the new section of testimony.

"Thank you for being here, Ginny," he greeted with a fatherly smile. "As I am sure you are aware, it is due to your contact with Draco Malfoy during your unfortunate time at Hogwarts Castle that you are here today."

"Yes, Sir," Ginny nodded, but her voice was wavering.

"We understand that this is difficult for you, My Dear," the old man continued gently. "Such intensive enquiry would be wearing without the additional burden of your treatment at the hands of our enemy. If you wish to pause at any moment, please do so."

"Thank you, Sir," the young woman replied, and Harry watched her profile visibly brighten at the support she was being offered. "I hope I shall not need it."

"Then we shall begin," Albus nodded to her and then looked to Amelia for the next move.

"Ms Weasley, this hearing requires that you speak the truth, so charged, are you willing?" Madame Bones began the formalities.

"I am willing," Ginny answered promptly, and her face set into a determined stare.

"Ms Weasley, when did you first encounter Draco Malfoy after you had been taken to Hogwarts?" Malcolm started the questioning, and Harry couldn't help being a little jealous of the care in his tone which he had not received.

"I had been at Hogwarts for several months before I saw Draco," the youngest Weasley would have made her family proud as she braved her memories. "I and Madame Flintarrow had been researching the Orb of Eternity, and we had finally put the last piece in place which described the whole Midnight Oil Ceremony. We had been working with the wizards who had been designing the ceremonies which put magic into Draco, and I was invited along to take notes on what they were doing so as to start honing the process. I didn't get close to Draco at that ceremony, Crabbe was keeping us all at a distance, but I was watching him closely for my notes."

"What did you see?" Moody was leaning over the desk again.

"He seemed very calm, he wasn't talking, ignored everything that was going on around him until his father told him to join the ceremony," Ginny recalled carefully, her brow furrowing as she concentrated.

"Did Malfoy seem complicit in the proceedings?" Rough-Rock dug for her own opinion on things.

"I couldn't tell that time," the redhead answered, and her gaze narrowed as she looked towards the hood. "Draco did as he was told, no more, no less."

"But you were able to make further judgments at later junctures?" Minerva picked up the thread.

"Yes," Ginny nodded definitely. "I was present at a lot of ceremonies after that, and I began to get the impression that Draco wasn't happy, and certainly didn't want to be there."

"Can you offer any specifics on which you made these judgements?" Amelia requested clarity.

"Most of the time it was just his body language, but there was one occasion when I arrived early for the ceremony," Ginny began, and there was a disquiet in her manner. "Crabbe was already there with Draco and they were arguing. Crabbe had a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, and Draco was on his way to being drunk, so I assumed he'd had the rest of it. They were yelling, and Draco didn't seem to care I was there as he told Crabbe to get lost, that he didn't want to do it, that he wasn't going to play ball this time. When Crabbe noticed me, he told me to keep an eye on Draco and then he left. Draco yelled after him that he could go and get his father if he wanted, but it wouldn't do any good. He was very angry. When Crabbe came back with Lucius, I was sent out of the room, but I heard the argument start up again. Then I heard Draco screaming. I don't know what Lucius did, but the ceremony went ahead, and Draco didn't object anymore."

"Was that all that happened while you were with Draco that night?" Albus looked at the young woman over his glasses, and Harry cursed the ancient's wizard's sense of truth and fairness as he knew for what information he was asking.

"No," Ginny returned slowly, and looked across to the man who had attacked her; Draco didn't respond as her new-found friendship with him warred in her eyes with his assault. Eventually, she turned back to the panel and disclosed, "As I said, Draco was very angry, and I was the only target left. He came after me, pushed me against a wall and tried to lift up skirt."

"Malfoy tried to assault you?" the disguised man let his disgust be known.

"I think he was playing games," the woman answered clearly, but her vulnerability regarding that event was in her face, "because when I kicked him and pushed him off, he fell into a chair and just sat there laughing."

"A very unpleasant game," Remus observed, quite clearly unimpressed by the information.

"Was this the only time Mr Malfoy attacked you?" Albus continued to pursue the facts.

"Yes, and the only time I ever saw him interact with anyone outside what he was told to do, except Crabbe or Lucius," Ginny confirmed.

"Your research into the Orb, were you aware of whether Draco Malfoy knew about it?" Remus announced the end of that line of questioning.

"I don't know," the young woman confirmed. "I never spoke about it, to him, or anyone else, it was part of the conditioning, and not many others knew. As far as most were concerned, the Heir Apparent meant that Draco would inherit from Voldemort."

"Apart from what you witnessed, or what you could not speak about, did you hear news of the Dark Prince from others at Hogwarts?" Moody went fishing as the new line of enquiry hit a dead end.

"Only rumour," was the reply.

"Since rumour is all we have to go on, and Ms Weasley's access to Hogwarts means that the rumours are likely to be more accurate than those from outside, I would request that we hear some of them," Rough-Rock jumped in and put her case to her fellow panel members.

All of them looked to Albus and Amelia, but Harry watched the white of Ginny's knuckles where she was gripping the lectern while the senior people conferred. Amelia eventually spoke to Ginny and told her, "We agree. Please use your judgement on which rumours or hearsay might be relevant, Ms Weasley. You may also state your opinion on the validity of the rumours if you wish, and Mr Malfoy will have an opportunity to repudiate any information which is not true when he is called."

The young woman nodded, and her eyes drifted to the ceiling as she considered the proposal. When she began, it was on an easy topic. "Draco never carried a wand, and the story went that it was because any magic would upset the balance of the bind runes. I think this was true, from what I saw of the runes, and the research in which I was involved, I would say that any attempt by Draco to cast would have been catastrophic."

"Girly, we're after juicier stuff than that," Moody proved he was nothing if not direct as he booted the interview along.

Ginny pursed her lips and gave him a hard, Weasley stare, and Harry wondered if she was going to give him a piece of her mind. However, the diplomat in Albus came into force, and he smoothed, "It was an admirable place to begin, Ms Weasley, but Moody is correct when he stated that the panel was perhaps requesting information on Mr Malfoy's lifestyle."

"Draco was never alone in public," the young woman began again. "Some said it was because he was so valuable to the cause, others said that it was because he couldn't be trusted."

"Trusted how exactly?" Minerva scratched the surface of the rumour.

"With anything," Ginny continued, her tone dubious of this avenue of questioning. "The word was that Draco was hedonistic in the extreme, didn't care about anyone or anything except having a good time. People said that if you wanted to, you could get on the broom-ride if you were vetted by Lucius first, but that once on, only Draco decided when you got off."

"And this was true for every aspect of his life?" Malcolm glanced from witness to passive defendant and back again, clearly trying to make up his mind about something.

"Yes," she replied, "no-one got close to Draco who hadn't been cleared by Lucius first, and those that did all seemed to be the party animal type. Sex, potions and good times."

"Was anyone forced onto this 'broom-ride'?" Amelia asked carefully.

"Not as far as I know," Ginny shook her head vigorously. "There were too many people queuing up to join in for any need for force. In fact, the rumours said that Draco liked seducing, not bullying. One story that ran rife round the castle after a big party was that Draco nearly wrecked the place when he got so angry because he found out that a wizard had brought his wife and she didn't want to be there."

"What happened to the wizard?" Rough-Rock slipped in, her tone suggesting she thought it was bad.

"I don't know," the young woman admitted, and her worry at the thought of the unknown man's fate showed.

Ginny's questioner made a small flourish with her pen before she made a note of that reply. If Draco was listening, he didn't make any reaction to all the speculation that was passing between witness and interviewers. In fact, his eyes were cast down, and he looked like he was thinking about something else.

"I believe we have heard enough rumour to be going on with," Albus called a halt to the tittle-tattle, and suggested in a tone which said he would not take no as an answer, "Shall we continue with more recent events?"

Madame Bones' look said that she agreed with her colleague and so she led the way with, "How would you describe your opinion of Draco Malfoy now?"

"We are friends," Ginny returned. "I find Draco charming, resilient, and I will never be able to repay him for saving my life and that of those I care about."

"Did you become friends before or after the incident with the Contagio Malefica?" Malcolm went searching for motive.

"Before," the young woman stated proudly. "I decided to visit Draco after talking to Harry about him."

"Thank you, Ms Weasley, that is all," Albus quickly dismissed, his smile still in place, and the vaguely uncertain look on Ginny's face as she turned to leave echoed the same feelings in Harry as he tried to work out if the last few enquiries had had a good effect or a bad one.

This time as she passed him, the Auror managed a brief smile of acknowledgement to his friend, but the curl of lips he got back spoke more of her uncertainty about the outcome of her testimony than anything else. Harry began to wonder if being present the whole way through was a benefit or a curse as his pessimism warred with his want for a good verdict.

* * *

Severus Snape was the last person Harry wanted to see as he mused the proceedings so far, and he was given a disdainful glance as the man passed, but he hoped that whatever the ex-spy had to say, it would work more strongly in Draco's favour than the mixture of praise and condemnation which had come out of both his and Ginny's testimony. Snape was the only witness who had asked to make rather than been made to make a statement, and he had imparted to no-one his motives or the contents of such a statement.

The tall, hawkish man oozed confidence as he strode over to the lectern, and before the panel could stop him, he began earnestly, "I thank the panel for its indulgence. I shall not detain the members long."

"We will accept all those who wish to offer relevant statements, Professor Snape," Amelia nodded to him, imparting her warning at the same time.

A cold smile touched the corners of Severus' lips as he accepted the words and returned, "I can assure you my statement will be relevant, Ma'am."

"Then Professor Snape, this hearing requires that you speak the truth, so charged, are you willing?" Albus gave him leave to begin.

"I am willing," the man returned and continued immediately. "Of all the people available to this hearing, I have known Draco Malfoy the longest and definitely the most clearly. As his House Master at Hogwarts, I observed him as he grew from a child into a responsible and gifted Slytherin, a leader among his peers. I also noted from my contact with Draco, that no matter how much Lucius influenced him, he would never be his father's son: he may have received his cunning and his diplomacy from Lucius, but his reason was awarded him by his mother, and he never had the mindless insanity of Lucius' devotion to the Death Eater Cause. Whether you agree with the character traits which a Slytherin holds above others or not, neither can you condemn this young man for them. Do not judge Draco Malfoy on who you suppose him to be, you will be wrong."

And that was it; the piece was said. Harry didn't know if anyone else was feeling shell-shocked by the whirlwind, succinct discourse, but he knew it had had an impact with him. He had thought about Draco after his suffering as a different person to the one he had known at school, and as Snape treated them both as a whole, it impressed him. Whether Rough-Rock or her hostile colleague would take any notice was another matter, but Harry took heart in the fact that there was no instant derision from the bench as a sign that maybe Snape had been heard.

"Thank you, Professor, you may go," Albus concluded the presentation smoothly.

As quickly as he arrived, Snape was gone.

Harry checked on his lover, and although still contemplating the wood in front of him, there was the ghost of a smile in his features.

* * *

It may not have been obvious to many why Poppy Pomfrey was next on the witness list, but to Harry it made sense. One of the few people to have had prolonged contact with Draco during his confinement, she could offer both a physical, magical and psychological profile of her patient. This she duly began with the physical summary when requested by Amelia.

"Apart from a few cuts and bruises, which I treated, Mr Malfoy was perfectly healthy when he arrived here. However, some of those minor injuries were too well healed to have been gained that night during the escape. I would ascertain that they were some hours old."

"And how would you say the injuries had been sustained?" Albus asked.

"There was a welt across the left side of Mr Malfoy's face consistent with a heavy slap from the palm of a hand. There was also bruising on his ribs consistent with impacts from fists. And his own knuckles had abrasions, so I would conclude that he had been in a fight earlier that day," the healer gave her assessment calmly.

"The next time you treated Malfoy was immediately after the rune removal?" Malcolm moved the interview on and Harry found he was suddenly sat up a little straighter as those circumstances were addressed.

"Yes, both Mr Malfoy and Mr Potter were deeply unconscious when we found them, and I examined them both. There appeared to be no serious injuries, but I had to use a sleep-chain potion on Mr Potter to prevent the magical influence from Mr Malfoy taking him over," the woman continued, her professional persona perfectly in place.

"Did you consider the influence malevolent?" Rough-Rock dove at the first sign of trouble like a dog with a bone.

"I was not sure what was influencing Mr Potter at first, just that it was present," Poppy answered. "It was not until I allowed him to come round that it became clear what was happening."

"And that was?" the hooded wizard prompted.

Harry ground his teeth at the prospect of digging this up for another time, and he was glad when his healer looked to Albus and objected, "I would prefer not to go into details as I am already eroding the bounds of healer-patient confidentiality in this matter."

"This incident was addressed by Auror Potter," Albus agreed and then requested, "All that is required is your opinion of the danger to others that Mr Malfoy posed at this juncture."

"Mr Malfoy's magical strength was beyond any with which I have had to deal before," Poppy frowned as she considered her opinion carefully. "At that time, it was aimed at one purpose, reaching Mr Potter, and apart from the side-effect of wards breaking, Mr Malfoy posed no threat to anyone except Mr Potter."

"But logically, such strength could have been aimed at anyone who got in Malfoy's way?" Moody joined the devil's advocates.

"Logically, yes, but from reviewing the situation, it became clear that by separating Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy, we had antagonised the magic that was being assimilated. The situation would not have become so bad if we had not interfered. And since then, Mr Malfoy had demonstrated no will to cause harm or damage with his magic," the carer explained evenly, and Harry was glad that no-one knew about Draco's tricks on Llewellyn.

"And yet your reports show that Malfoy continued to break wards and even locks during his time with you," Rough-Rock challenged, and received her umpteenth hard stare from a witness.

"Those acts were, in my opinion, unconscious," Poppy retorted smartly. "Mr Malfoy, after some initial problems-"

"Some initial problems which meant that you were forced to stun your patient," the hooded man pounced.

Madame Pomfrey did not look pleased at the inference, and she straightened herself and spoke with authority as she returned, "Mr Malfoy was ill and his temper was therefore affected, it is not unusual for a patient to react to his healer with hostility, especially after such a traumatic time. I established my authority, part of which was the use of the stunner, and after that, Mr Malfoy was far better behaved than some of my other patients. He made every effort not to perform unconscious magic, training very hard, sometimes harder than I, as his healer, would have wished to try and prevent such occurrences."

Harry listened to Pomfrey's opinion on the events and was rather surprised by her stance. He knew he shouldn't have been, he had found out just how different her considered point of view could be from what he had supposed she thought when she had defended him against all comers during his stay with her. Yet, having been on the harsh side of her tongue and temper during both of Draco's stays with her, Harry still wondered at the formidable woman's capacity for understanding and indulging her patients' motives.

"And yet you had further problems on his second stay with you," Rough-Rock was not giving up on pursuing every fault she could find.

"Under such trying circumstances, Mr Malfoy's behaviour was, I suggest, very restrained," Poppy was bristling at the accusations, and she stated her reasons very clearly as she continued, "The Contagio Malefica was very powerful. When the infected group arrived, I and my healers tried to counteract it, but it used the charms we cast as bridges to those who cast them. The situation was very bad, and Mr Malfoy saw that. Initially, he fought the infection, pushed it away from himself, and tried to help those of us who were trying to stop the spell. However, when it became clear nothing was working, he let the infection back inside, drawing it into himself away from everyone else. He saved everybody. If it had not been for his presence and his sacrifice, that horrible spell would have infected first my people and then probably most of this base.

Mr Malfoy had to fight extremely hard to survive the spell and when he did come back to us, he was in a very vulnerable position. His eye-sight, as you can see, is still affected by the attack. From such a position, it was perfectly understandable that Mr Malfoy wanted to try and compensate for his loss of sight, and his experiments were, at times, problematic, but nothing that my people were not ready for. They did not endanger himself or others, just caused minor mishaps when they went wrong. We allow our school children the same leeway when they are learning."

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey," Albus concluded before any more questions could be asked, "you may step down."

Harry was getting a feel for telling Rough-Rock and her companion's mood from just their body movements, and the way the hoods both rounded silently on Albus told him that they had been wanting to do some more digging. However, the ancient wizard held sway, and it appeared that Madame Bones agreed with him, because she did not object to the dismissal. Instead, the woman was looking down to what Harry guessed was a witness sheet, and her countenance gave away the fact that it was crunch-time for Draco. Sympathetic nerves kicked in and Harry glanced across at his lover to see if he had recognised the significance; it became immediately clear that he had, because his attention was focused on the panel, and any signs of passive disinterest were gone. The prisoner's gaze was sure, but, Harry thought, carefully dutiful to the authority before him -- it was an admirable combination.

Albus met the waiting attention as serenely as he had all the other witnesses, but other members of the panel visibly stiffened when faced with the last interview of the hearing. Even Malcolm joined his two compatriots in a veiled hostility as prejudgements came into effect. Minerva, Amelia and Remus just looked serious, but Moody too was on more of an alert than he had been with the other testifiers.

"Draco Malfoy, please take the stand," Albus commanded, and smoothly, he was obeyed. Harry stood, and opened the gate for his prisoner and then watched anxiously as he crossed to centre stage. Outwardly, Draco was composed, inwardly, well Harry had been dealing with his nightmares the last two nights, and he knew that he was not as self-possessed about the hearing as he appeared to be.

"Draco Malfoy, this hearing requires that you speak the truth, so charged, are you willing?" Amelia added her authority to the moment.

"I am willing," the young man answered evenly.

Moody gave the panel no chance to settle on its first question, and he chose to attack disdainfully with, "So Laddie, what do we call you? Your Highness, Dark One, Sir?"

The bait fell flat, at least with Draco, who just regarded his taunter for a long moment; Harry on the other hand would have liked to have given his comrade a piece of his mind for such an unfair dig. Draco was far more diplomatic, and answered calmly, "When you know that all the pompous titles you have been given mean precisely the same thing, that you are going to die when you're still young enough for it to matter, or maybe something worse, you tend not to take any notice of them. My name is Draco Malfoy."

"At what time did you discover the fate for which you were destined?" Albus ignored Moody as the man lounged back in his chair and regarded Draco with a smile on his face that said nothing but he was pleased by the reply or its delivery -- pleased why, Harry hadn't a clue, but he frowned at the old Auror for good measure.

"The day I left the protection of Hogwarts, my eighteenth birthday," the younger Malfoy replied, showing none of the emotion which had accompanied his similar confession to Harry. "It was also my first and last face to face meeting with Voldemort."

"What happened?" Amelia enquired, also watching her subject closely.

"Lucius arrived at the Manor, and I went to greet him. He took me down into a dungeon I'd never seen before and introduced me to my master," the last word came out with more emotion than its speaker intended, and Draco paused, visibly collecting himself. "He marked me as his property and I passed out. When I came round, I was in an apartment I didn't know and Crabbe and Goyle had become my gaolers."

"How are you marked?" Malcolm asked the pertinent question.

Draco didn't hesitate, he undid a couple of buttons of his shirt and slipped it off his left shoulder to reveal the mark which Harry knew was there, but couldn't see from his position.

"He put his hand here, and called to the part of himself that he told me he'd put into me at my conception. I woke up with this."

"Your conception?!" Rough-Rock sounded horrified.

Draco nodded, and Harry saw his eyes flash, but his voice was icily calm as he replied, "Yes, these plans were laid before Harry defeated Voldemort the first time. I was bred as a body to replace his when it wore out. The magical impregnation should have begun when I was a child."

"How did you feel when you were given this news?" Minerva was trying to sound professional, but she was clearly shocked, and her sympathy came through her tone.

"Betrayed, afraid," and the young man looked away from the panel for a moment as he rearranged his clothing and added, "worthless."

"Not angry?" Moody prodded again, clearly goading a response.

"Oh yes, I was angry," the younger Malfoy returned, and the Auror succeeded in drawing out a ghost of what Harry knew was going on under the surface in Draco's thin-lipped manner. "I had just found out my entire family life had been a lie, a lucky break that had just been called. I screamed and yelled and hit anyone in range for days, but eventually the anger turned into other things."

Draco showed no surprise as when he fell silent, the prompt came, "What things?"

"First I put my energies into trying to escape," the prisoner answered, relaxing back into control of himself. "Then into trying to kill myself. Finally I did my damnedest to stop caring, it was less painful."

"Are you speaking figuratively?" Remus sounded like he wanted the answer to be yes, but Draco shook his head.

"No, Lucius has always made sure I see the error of my ways when he is displeased with me."

"How?" Moody wasn't giving up on the attempt to remove Draco's mask.

"Hex or fist, it never made much difference as long it didn't leave a scar," his victim maintained his cool, but his gaze narrowed onto the Auror.

"If this has been going on so long, why haven't we heard anything sooner?" the unknown resistance man challenged.

"It is not something Lucius wished to get around."

"But didn't you try to tell someone?"

"As a child, I thought that was the way it was supposed to be, harsh, but fair, and not to be discussed outside the family," Draco answered evenly, making hood to eye contact. "When things became unfair, well the first person I told was the cleaning lady at the apartment where I was held before I was brought to Hogwarts. She was a good little death eater and went straight to my father. He then dragged her in front of me, apologised for not making the rules clearer and then said that since I was not aware of this particular rule that this time he would only wipe her mind, which he did right there and then, despite my promises never to do it again if he left her alone. She didn't even know her own name by the time he'd finished. Then he had her taken away, and told me that the next person I took into my confidence would be executed."

That information heralded a silence from the panel, even the aggressive members, as the stark consequences sunk home. It was Dumbledore who braved the quiet when he asked, "Were you rewarded for obedience?"

The young man smiled, but it wasn't a happy gesture, and he looked away as he informed the panel, "Yes. It started with practical things, access to rooms other than my bedroom, clothes besides my pyjamas. Then treats -- books, good food, drink, lovers. The levels would go up and down according to how well I behaved. By the time I arrived at Hogwarts, Lucius was fairly confident he had me trained well enough for public appearances as long as Crabbe was there to watch me."

Harry listened to the admissions and wondered at how miraculously sane the man he had met at Hogwarts had appeared to be. His own treatment, in some ways had been harsher, but at least his role was very clear, no pretence for the castle dog. The Dark Prince, however, had been expected to perform and deceive even when it did not meet his own interests, and the young man came to the conclusion that his lover had a very strong sense of self to have survived his father's games.

"But why did you cooperate in the impregnation ceremonies?" Rough-Rock demanded, but her tone was one of sheer disbelief rather than condemnation.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her, but did not reply. Minerva answered for him, as she observed, "Ginny, I think, provided that answer, did she not, Mr Malfoy? The evening you drank too much. What incentive did Lucius use then?"

"Cruciatus," the young man shrugged, but his manner was anything but nonchalant as he recalled, "He said the shock would sober me up."

A further silence followed the answer. Now even Moody, the hardened, cynical Auror was looking grim, but it was he who got on with what was necessary. However, the gnarled man had lost the teasing edge to his voice as he began, "Alright, Laddie, say we believe you. You think that excuses what you did to Harry or Ginny?"

"No!" Draco was shocked by the suggestion, but the matter-of-factness seemed to help his equilibrium, and he settled, answering more fully, "I will offer no excuses for what I did, only explanation. I got drunk the night I attacked Ginny because Crabbe had mentioned that the format had changed again, and I just didn't want to know. I was angry and scared and I took it out on Ginny. I'm just thankful I was too drunk to do anything serious. Harry, well I suspected he'd brought my ultimate fate forward by years by bringing the orb to Britain, and I wanted to make him pay for that. He was an easy target and I set out to hurt him in any way I could, but it wasn't that easy."

"Still you did attack him repeatedly," Amelia reminded them, her sense of justice well in place.

"Yes, I did," the young man accepted his actions without reservation. "I intimidated, abused and had an unforgivable curse used on him, and I still couldn't get away from how similar we were."

"So you set out to seduce him instead?" Albus was a surprise questioner, and his face said that he didn't altogether approve of the second course of action either.

"I suppose I always had that thought in the back of my mind when I decided to do what I could," Draco agreed, a sudden impudent grin lighting his features, and Harry quite admired his lack of repentance.

"Doing what you could involved stabbing Mr Potter," Malcolm snarked as his disapproval came through.

"No, that was a spur of the moment decision," the prisoner defended firmly. "I couldn't stand to watch their games anymore, it was too cruel, so I used what I had to hand to end it. It was only when I went to see Harry in the infirmary that I decided to help him."

"And seduce him," Albus was insistent.

"I allowed for that possibility," Draco nodded to him, "but it was not an issue I would have forced, about that much rumour was correct, I prefer persuasion to coercion."

"So what did happen during the incident with the wizard and his wife?" Dementer one asked quickly.

The younger Malfoy spoke with conviction as he disclosed, "I didn't actually wreck the place, I up-ended a table and then yelled at the man until he was so scared that he fainted. When he came round, I had him thrown out into January snow, naked, and told him to think about the position in which he had put his wife while he walked to Hogsmeade."

"And his wife?" Moody pushed.

"To her I apologised and had her installed in the guest chamber of my apartment," the consummate player disclosed smoothly. "She came to see me the next day, and apologised for the disturbance she had caused. She also told me that she had reconsidered the suggestion I had made the night before which had started the whole proceedings in the first place. She joined my 'circle' as you called it, later divorcing her husband. Her name is Melody Blackstar."

Harry started as he realised who this 'innocent young wife' of the story had to be, and the two images of angel and hellcat did not equate.

"The young woman who-," Minerva began, her hand going to her mouth.

"Who liked to hear a man scream, yes," Draco finished for her flatly. "Melody is a political as well as a party animal. I was a rung on her ladder. She used me to get rid of her inconvenient husband for her by playing the innocent, about which I did not later object when I discovered it, because she suited my tastes at the time. I believe she would even have preferred it if I had provided a more permanent solution to her husband problem than just disgracing him. She is very ambitious -- by the time Harry met her, I believe she was entertaining Lucius as well as myself."

The level disclosure with no hint of emotion seemed to be shocking the world-wise panel rather more than, by their faces, Harry thought even they had expected. Rough-Rock, although hidden from view, shifted in her seat before she picked out the information she thought pertinent. The woman actually sounded as though her confidence in Draco's guilt was slipping as she asked, "Why did you not dispose of her husband 'permanently'?"

"I never had anyone disappeared, or executed, it was too close to home," the young man answered, and Harry could see the pain in his expression, although he thought it was probably too faint for many of the others to recognise.

"And other forms of abuse?" her companion backed up the disguised female.

"I scared quite a lot of people, mainly through verbal intimidation, occasionally I threw things," Draco admitted plainly, "but apart from Harry and Ginny, I did not use physical abuse on anyone who didn't come at me first."

"You are asking us to believe that of all the people with whom you came into contact, the only two you ever abused are the two who we happen to have giving evidence?" this time Rough-Rock did sound incredulous, and the looks that some of the other panel members gave their subject said that they were of similar opinions (not however, Harry thought, Albus).

"Yes," the simple reply came with no other embellishment, but still raised a few eyebrows.

"Moving along to your escape from Hogwarts," Albus stepped in to the silent disbelief, "Why?"

"As I mentioned before, I had tried to escape. Once even from Hogwarts, but I couldn't walk for three days after I was caught, and that was the last time I tried," Draco sounded so cool on the surface, but Harry was listening to the minute tenors of his voice which said how much those thoughts were effecting him. "I hadn't intended on escaping from Hogwarts, even after I arranged to have Harry removed from Gryffindor Tower. I was still just finding what pleasure I could, for myself and him, in the limits we had been given. Even after we were separated, I was still trying to work within the boundaries, but then when Crabbe brought me into the torture chamber and Lucius started using Harry like a spelltest-dummy, I couldn't take it anymore. When I tried to leave, he had me sent to his chambers. Crabbe left me alone when I asked him to, I don't know why, it wasn't sensible considering that I had gone pretty wild by then, but I was alone there for a couple of hours waiting for Lucius to turn up and chastise me. That's when I worked it all out. I knew my way around the study, and I knew where he'd hidden Harry's wand, so I stole it. I then made a mess, and called a House Elf to clear it up and I sent him off with a message to the local resistance cell. From there, it all just happened."

"Please enlighten us as to the details, Mr Malfoy," old Dumbledore wanted more.

"When, Lucius came to 'deal' with me, he gloated, told me that Harry had screamed for mercy and that he was still screaming in the infirmary. When he told me that he'd ordered the healers not to use any barrier spells, I flipped," the young man actually looked over to Harry, who was feeling sick at the mention of that horrific time, and his eyes said sorry for bringing it up. Then his attention returned to the questioners and he continued, "I knocked Lucius over and ran for the infirmary. He and Crabbe came after me, but I got there ahead of them. I hid the wand when I went to Harry, and then Lucius came in. He hit me, and I went back at him. Crabbe pulled me off and dragged me back to my apartment. I was expecting Lucius, I hoped I'd still be able to move afterwards, but he never came. That night I pretended to Crabbe that I was falling-down drunk, he let his guard down, and at the time I'd said in the note, I knocked him out. Then I went to get Harry."

"What are your feelings regarding your father?" Amelia asked, and she was observing closely again.

"I have no father," the words came out like a curse as Draco failed to hold his sentiment back; he seemed shocked by his own vehemence, and took hold of the lectern as he tried to calm down.

"Mr Malfoy, moving forward to the Contagio Malefica incident," Minerva gave Amelia a disapproving look for the way she had deliberately stirred the pot as she spoke, "why did you draw the infection into yourself?"

"People were falling to it all around, and I wasn't," the young man jumped on the new question, and a thoughtful look came into his eyes. "The contagion was trying to bridge my magic as well, but it couldn't, and I thought that maybe I'd have a chance at holding it when no-one else could, so I let it in."

"Did you consider the risk to yourself?" Malcolm enquired more precisely.

Draco paused, clearing considering his answer, and then he shook his head and replied, "I just wanted to stop it hurting my friends."

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy, that is all we require from you," Albus dismissed.

"Auror Potter," Madame Bones called her subordinate to his feet, "the room to the left of this has been set aside for your prisoner to wait while we deliberate what we have heard here today."

"Yes, Ma'am," the Auror responded, and fell in beside Draco as he stepped away from the lectern.

He was glad the testimonies were over, but now the pros and cons of all that had been said were tumbling about in his head and he couldn't make sense of them. Still, he smiled supportively at his lover one more time as they headed to the door; he received a watery smile back, but Draco's thoughts were clearly elsewhere, and his gaze fell to the ground.


	50. Judgement

They hadn't spoken much during what seemed like hours of waiting. Draco had taken Harry into his arms as soon as they had been left alone, kissed him soundly and apologised for putting him through the rigors of the hearing. Harry had told him not to be daft and they'd kissed some more, but then they'd parted and settled mostly into their own thoughts. Harry found that he had been staring at the wall for an inordinate amount of time thinking about absolutely nothing when a knock on the door alerted him to the fact that a decision was imminent. He glanced first at his lover, whose slight surprise at meeting gazes told him that his eyes had been on him longer than a few seconds, and he saw the doubt sitting there. The pronouncement could wait a moment, he crossed over to where Draco was seated and pulled him to his feet.

It wasn't very often that Harry had had the chance to be the strong face of confidence in this relationship, and he knew that no-one outside their current privacy was going to see the vulnerability that Draco was showing. Holding his partner close, he spoke from his heart as he soothed, "Whatever they decide, I will be with you, they will not separate us."

"I don't want you suffering anymore because of me," the prisoner objected.

"You think I'd feel any better if you were in one place and I was in another?" Harry was taking no rebuttals. "Dumbledore and Bones know where I stand on this one."

"You're a fool, Potter," Draco decided, but there was a conflicted smile on his face as he accepted the support.

Harry just kissed him lightly and then let him go with, "Come on, time to face the music."

By the time Harry opened the door, Draco was beside him, and the Auror on the other side saw the calm, composed Slytherin exterior. With a nod, Harry indicated to his peer that they were ready and then the other man turned and led the way back to the hearing chamber. Draco's own doubt had kicked in Harry's paranoia, and he scanned his immediate area carefully. It was only as he had made his oath to his lover that he had thought about what would happen if the decision went against Draco. Imprisonment for the indefinite time of war ahead was not a joyful prospect, and the young man let his less honourable instincts out as he considered alternative options. The two other Aurors followed them into the main room this time, closing the door and taking up positions on the inside. Their presence could have been due to the fact that they were not ferrying witnesses from their anteroom anymore, that was the less pessimistic option, but Harry's gut was favouring the possibility that they were there to deal with any fallout from the judgement, which would also include him. His wand was stowed in its usual place, but he ran his hand over the holly nestled in the folds of his robe, just to make sure he knew exactly where it was. He could take out at least one of the men, whether they were ready for him, or not, of that he was sure, and if he flicked off the bracelets, he hoped Draco could handle anything else. Guiltily, as he realised that his musings were serious, he hoped that they wouldn't have to cause any damage to people or property to get away.

The lectern had gone from the centre of the room, but the Auror escorted his charge back to that position to face judgement. The faces of the panel gave nothing away, no-one was smiling or frowning in any great measure, and only Amelia Bones and Albus Dumbledore showed any animation as they took up their leadership mantels once more.

"Draco Malfoy, you have submitted yourself to the authority of this panel, are you ready to face our judgement?" Madame Bones began earnestly.

"I am ready," Draco replied.

"Mr Malfoy," Professor Dumbledore then took over, his gaze firm, but neutral, "Your life since you left Hogwarts has been one of extremes: of violence and inhumanity. However, until your re-encounter with Harry Potter, the panel finds that you were non-complicit in all acts in which we have the authority to judge you." Harry's heart entered his throat as it very clearly came down to his testimony being the deciding factor. "In the matter of your torture of Auror Potter, you have admitted your guilt, and whatever your reasons, your actions were morally inexcusable." Harry bit his tongue, he wanted to yell that if that was all, he didn't care about it, to forget it, but instead, he just moved his hand as discretely as possible up to rest on his wand sleeve. "However, taking into account your state of mind, and your later reconciliatory acts, and the fact that Harry seems to have forgiven you, again we will not pass any further judgement in this matter." That wasn't everything, Harry knew by the tone of his mentor's voice that he wasn't finished, and the still very serious look in the old man's eyes kept his ready joy from making it all the way past the stoic pessimism. So, Harry waited, his breath tight and his thoughts confused. "Over all, Mr Malfoy, this panel admires your fortitude in the face of trying circumstance, however, it must also consider what effect those trials have had on your mind and your body and as such any behaviour with regard to the security of this base." Harry ground his teeth as the stability issue was raised. "On this point we may only judge you on your behaviour since your arrival, which has been, when reviewing the circumstances," Harry held his breath, "satisfactory," and let it rapidly out again. "Draco Malfoy, this hearing finds that you are not a Death Eater, neither are you a threat to our community. In the light of these judgements, you are a free man and are granted the sanctuary of Hogwarts Tutus for as long as you wish to remain."

"Auror Potter," Amelia commanded before the final statement had had a chance to settle in, "you are discharged of your duty, you may release you prisoner."

Harry reached immediately for his wrist, but Draco's palm over the bangle stopped him from flicking the catch.

"With respect, I would request that Harry doesn't remove the bracelets," his lover asked hastily, a whole mixture of emotions making his request breathy and excited.

"Why on earth not?" Minerva asked the question.

"The bracelets stop me performing unconscious magic," Draco explained, "and until I'm sure I understand why these random events are happening, I believe that the suppression bangles are the best mechanism so far for preventing me being a danger to others."

"As you wish, Mr Malfoy," Albus smiled at the flushed young man, "but we must see to having them altered so that you may remove your own."

"Thank you," the free agent grinned openly at the older wizard.

"If there is nothing else," the professor paused, and there was no reply, "this hearing is concluded."

Draco turned to Harry, and he looked desperately like he was trying to maintain his decorum, but the grin kept breaking out on his features. Harry was not nearly so willing to hold back; the formalities were over, and as the panel members left their seats, despite the fact that he knew his lover would tell him off later, the young man let his exuberance out and threw his arms around Draco. He did restrain himself and settled for the manly hug rather than the snog he would have preferred which would have embarrassed the rest of the room, and was pleasantly surprised when he felt the self-control in Draco snap, and found himself in a tight embrace. At that point it was only Albus and Minerva walking up beside them that stopped the two men from getting carried away. Instead, they parted rather rapidly as their brains caught up with where their libidos had been going, and the look in Draco's eyes as he stepped back said that he was saving that thought for later.

"Welcome, officially speaking, to our community, Mr Malfoy," Albus nodded to him with a smile.

"Thank you, Sir, and please call me Draco," the charmer returned, all smiles.

"And you must call me Albus, I am no longer your Headmaster," the old man agreed.

"And it is time you called me, Minerva," their female companion joined in with the chit chat.

"The gap of years since school seems very large," Draco observed wryly.

"And we must do our best to fill it in," Minerva returned, and with one glance at her oldest comrade which said that this was not a spur of the moment decision, "We suggest a celebratory dinner. Just ourselves and a few chosen friends in Albus' rooms; shall we say, seven o'clock?"

Harry and Draco looked at each other, both grinning as they noted the railroading, and Harry allowed his lover to make the reply of, "What an excellent idea, thank you, seven o'clock it is."

"We shall see you then. For now, I would suggest there may be some others waiting to hear the verdict?" Albus concluded, and waved them towards the door.

"See you later," Harry finished and then the pair went to those of whom Dumbledore had spoken.

* * *

Ginny Weasley and Severus Snape made an odd couple, in fact they were sitting on opposite sides of the witness room contemplating their own minds. They both stood up as soon as the door swung in, and their faces were alert for news. Ginny looked immediately confused by the mixed signals of smiles and the fact that she had spotted the bracelets still being in place. Her disquiet made her hang back. Severus was not so backward, and his smile said that he had seen and assessed the signs as being positive.

"Congratulations, Mr Malfoy," he greeted, ignoring Harry completely as he stuck out his hand to Draco.

"It's okay?" Ginny asked them both, and Harry nodded.

Severus showed his distaste when he was swept aside by an over-exuberant Gryffindor as she threw her arms around Draco's neck, and, clearly bouncing, told him, "I'm so glad."

"Thank you for all you said, all of you," Draco returned honestly, extracting himself from a slightly embarrassed redhead, and then making eye-contact with each of his companions in turn.

Snape nodded acknowledgement, but Harry and Ginny shared a look which said that they didn't think that all they had said had been useful. Draco saw it and countered firmly, "No, no Gryffindor guilt. I couldn't have had two better and more forgiving defenders. You spoke the truth, what I did to you, I did, and I can only apologise."

"Typical," Severus curled his lip superiorly, and both Gryffindors showed their displeasure at his disdain.

"And none of that either," Draco tutted at all three of his friends, grinning with high spirits. "No fighting, you and Harry haven't been in the same room for a minute yet, Severus."

"So, why are you still wearing the bracelets?" Ginny took the hint and moved the conversation along.

"My choice," the blond returned, grinning at the freedom he was implying. "Helps me stop things exploding when I get carried away."

"Be careful they do not become a crutch, Draco," Severus found the darker side of the idea as usual.

However, the younger Malfoy revealed that his mind worked in a scarily similar way to his old mentor's as he replied, "I have some ideas on that front."

"Before you two launch into some long-winded discussion," Ginny stepped right back into the foetal conversation, "I suggest we adjourn somewhere more comfortable, and where we can let everyone else know."

"The Mess," Harry decided to join in.

"Perfect," the young woman agreed, clearly taking charge.

"I have to go and thank Poppy first," Draco showed that he had manners when he wanted.

"Oh yes, she said sorry she couldn't wait, but she had to get back to work," Ginny remembered on cue, and looked a little abashed about forgetting. "Of course you should go and see her. Look, I'll go and round everyone up, and we'll meet you in the mess for a long lunch in say, half an hour?"

"Perfect," Draco nodded, apparently perfectly happy for his friend to organise everything.

"That'll give us time to see Poppy and for me to dump my robes," Harry agreed.

"You're going back to your room?" his fellow Gryffindor asked, and her eyes were glinting with tease as she followed up with, "You are going to turn up this time?"

Draco laughed, Harry felt his cheeks colour, but he did smile and then shared a secret look with his lover.

"Yes, we'll turn up this time, Wizard's Honour," he promised.

Snape was looking non-plussed by the innuendo, and Draco answered it by distracting the moment back to the actual lunch, and invited, "Will you be joining us, Severus?"

Harry stamped on the urge to show his distaste at that idea, but whatever efforts he made, his adversary reacted to something in his manner. Severus made it very obvious that he had seen Harry's coolness to the idea in the very heavy way he surveyed him before he turned back to Draco. Harry bit his tongue at the definite body language which from another might have suggested they had been stung by something nasty, but for Snape clearly said he was hurt by the rejection. It was for Draco's benefit, Harry knew it, but he wasn't about to make things worse by starting an out and out argument over what he knew to be play acting -- there was very little either of them could do to each other that did not roll off their very specific thick skins. The martyr smiled cordially at his friend and replied, "Thank you, but no, I have other things to be doing."

"Then we will see you tonight? Dumbledore is throwing us a dinner party, you will be there?" Draco ignored the game-playing and swept on with playing host, even if he wasn't strictly the host.

"If I am invited," Severus inclined his head humbly, which wasn't fooling anyone and his younger comrade countered, "Of course you'll be invited, Albus knows who'd we'd want to be there."

Harry liked the inclusive 'we' that Draco was using, and he liked it even more that it clearly made Snape uncomfortable. His lover was not compromising though, and his high spirits ignored all the hostile body-language.

"Right, that's settled, see you in half an hour Ginny, and tonight, Severus. Come on Harry," and the whirlwind that Draco became was off out of the door.

Harry said goodbye to Ginny and he and Snape exchanged supercilious glances, and then he trotted after his lover.

* * *

Some promises could be very hard to keep, and it had taken the young men some considerable effort to resist activities that would have made them late for lunch, especially after Harry had decided that his robes had been somewhat warm for the stressful hearing and had decided to freshen up. Removing his shirt for a new one had almost proved fatal to their plans, as Draco's exuberance had taken a lustful turn, but some cold water and a little willpower (mostly on Harry's part) had taken them back out of the room before his lover had got his trousers undone. They'd still caused some looks on the way to the Mess, since both partners were being irreverently tactile with each other as Harry enjoyed the fact that he wasn't on duty anymore, but out of habit more than anything, they both let their hands fall to their sides as they walked into the much more public room.

The couple weren't late, but they were the last to arrive, and Harry was taken aback by the number of people Ginny had rounded up. He had been expecting Ron and Hermione, who were sat in the middle of the group. Tonks and Remus, on one end, were, with hindsight, logical appearances, but Seamus and Dean at the other were surprises, although the way Dean was sat very close to Ginny gave the young man a good reason why the Gryffindors were there. Two seats had been left opposite Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Ron waved them into their places as soon as they were spotted.

"Come on, some of us are hungry," he jibed and Harry could see the effort his best-friend was making in the wideness of his smile.

"We're not late are we?" Draco asked innocently, but Ron knew exactly to what the remark was referring and went red, and Harry jabbed his lover in the ribs as they sat down.

"No, right on time," Tonks said loudly. "Now lets eat!"

Two servers trotted up to either end of the table, and not much more was said except for the taking of orders until they were jogging away again, happy little grins on their faces due to the long list of food that had been chosen. Then, it was Hermione who began a conversation in earnest as she looked Draco directly in the eye and asked, "So, what does it feel like to be a free man."

His lover didn't answer immediately, and Harry watched Draco's profile as he considered the question with as much care as he had those in the hearing. This time, however, he was smiling as he finally replied, "Strange, it's been five years, but, in a way, settling."

"You find ending up in this place in the middle of a war settling?" Seamus opened his mouth as rapidly as usual and what he thought came straight out with only slightly less hostility than of old; it was clear he was there because of Dean.

"Yes," Draco returned, a smile playing at the edge of his mouth, as he ignored the aggression for which the Irishman was receiving hard stares. "This place is peaceful compared with Hogwarts. It's very settling when your life isn't in constant forfeit anymore."

That shut up anything that Finnegan had left to say, and he actually looked a little shaken by the matter-of-fact way in which the reply had been given. Harry wasn't so sure Draco was quite as calm about everything as his answer had suggested, and he ran his palm discretely over his lover's thigh to offer his support. Fingers found his almost immediately, and intertwined needily. That answered any suspicions he had, and he decided to try and lighten the mood.

"I know that feeling," he agreed, grimacing with what he hoped was humour and then teased, "and did you miss it, or were you just taking notes from Gryffindors when you decided to absorb an entire magical contagion all by yourself?"

Draco looked round the table and agreed with an eyebrow raise, "I am wholly outnumbered and you people are a seriously bad influence on any self-respecting Slytherin. You're almost suicidal in your foolhardy bravery."

That drew a laugh from all quarters, and Remus observed, "So you're blaming us for your sudden fit of heroism, I think we should take that as a compliment?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes as the rumble of appreciation went round the group, but under the table he was still gripping Harry's hand like a vice as he chided, "Only Gryffindors would take being an inspiration for peril as a compliment. Even a Hufflepuff would think about the odds before diving in, but not the lion's house, oh no, straight in, demon-may-care. You should all carry government warning messages saying, 'Chance of Mindless Acts of Courage -- Beware Infection Likely'."

"So what would a Slytherin sign say, 'Sneaky Bastard Alert'?" Ron quipped back, and brought silence to the table as Draco just looked at him for a moment.

Harry held his breath, and wished it hadn't been Ron who had made the faux pas, but unable to tell how his lover had taken the friendly jibe from his statuesque stare.

"No," Draco eventually returned with quiet decorum, "we're far too cunning to be caught wearing signs."

The arch of his eyebrow signalled a release of tension all round, and Ron visibly relaxed as his joke was taken for what it was. Harry stroked his partner's fingers with his thumb to show his appreciation of the non-hostile reaction, and was pleasantly surprised as Draco leant right against him. The pleasant side of things faded a little as he ignored the exchange that began rather too enthusiastically as Seamus tried to ignore the body language, and, instead, noted from the extra contact that Draco was very rigid; it began to dawn on him how daunting being surrounded by _his_ friends probably was for the lone Slytherin, and as his lover released his hand to gesticulate at Hermione, he slipped his arm up and around Draco's shoulders. He was glad when the hold inspired a muted release of stress and ignored the heavy looks it got from most of the men at the table; the women showed no such disquiet, in fact Hermione actually smiled at him for a moment when his fingers appeared over his lover's shoulder, before that was, she carried on with a scathing attack of Draco's opinion on some long-named wizard philosopher, the discussion of whom had someone come out of Seamus' randomly chosen topic of what they had all chosen for lunch.

* * *

Draco had relaxed a great deal by the time the elves had returned with drinks, mainly due to the fact that he and Hermione were now involved in a rather intense discussion about an obscure branch of Arithmancal Philosophy, which had everyone else bemused, but strangely fascinated. Harry was listening to the long words more for their rhythmic qualities than any sense that they made to him, and had settled contentedly into the lean-together that he and his partner had fostered. They sat back as the beverages were placed on the table, and Ron finally complained, "Enough about Beedle-whathisname and har-thingum-ology, you two could bore for England."

Hermione tutted and leaned into her husband, planting a kiss on his cheek and then she chided, "We were trying to expand your intellect."

"It was bad enough with one bookworm at school," Harry backed up his best-friend, "now with two of you, the conversation doesn't stand a chance."

"There is more to life than Quidditch," Draco allied himself with his boffin friend as he teased lightly; he didn't quite lay a similar condescending kiss on Harry, but from the way he tensed for a second, Harry knew it had been a close thing.

"I'll have you know that Quidditch can teach you a lot about life!" the young man argued without really thinking it through first, and of course, the challenge came simultaneously from his lover and his friend, "What?" Harry opened and closed his mouth a couple of times as he sought something to say, and then he blustered, "Strategy."

"Cunning," Ron joined in with a broad, self-satisfied grin.

"Attention to detail," Harry nodded, encouraged into his stride.

"Agility," his best-friend threw in next.

"Discipline."

"Maths."

Everyone looked at Ron for that little gem, and he defended with a shrug, "Well, you have to add up the score."

"Alright, enough of the merits of Quidditch," Remus stepped into the discussion with an easy authority, "and enough about the intellectual heights of Arithmancy as well. Somebody pick a different subject before all four of you bore us to death."

Harry chuckled and enjoyed a rub of fingers down his leg as both he and Draco waited for someone else to meet the lull that fell for a moment. However, into the easy pause of friends drifted something which made his good humour evaporate. Quiet, but distinctive, he recognised someone making dog yapping noises, faraway calls of 'here boy' and 'sit' and an accompaniment of sniggering. It might just have been someone talking about a new puppy, it could have been some friends having a joke, but the Welsh accent to the training instructions made it very clear to Harry that it was neither of those things, and, tensing, he began to unwrap himself from Draco to answer his distinctive enemy. However, someone else got there first. Draco and Harry turned in their seats in the direction from which Llewellyn's taunts were coming, but Ron was already on his feet as Harry spotted the petty man and his fellows.

"Shut up, Llewellyn!" the redhead challenged.

"Are we bothering you, Weasley?" came back from the perpetrator, who lounged in his chair, satisfied with the attention he had gained.

"Get lost, you obnoxious git," Ron threw back, angrily, "before I do something you'll regret."

The Welshman's eyes hardened as he regarded the defender he had not been expecting, and his gaze danced between the fiery redhead and his original target, who was rather impressed with his best-friend and let him get on with it.

"Don't threaten me, Weasley," Llewellyn clearly didn't like the fact that he was dealing with someone other than Harry, or Draco, and it was the only reason both targets remained silent. He stood up, and a sharp smile crossed his features as he taunted, "I'm more interested in the Death Eater and his little guide dog."

That got the rise the man was after, although the magnitude took him by surprise, as not only Harry and Draco got to their feet, but the entire table, wands drawn for those who possessed them. For a moment, it shut him up, and the daunting unity showed in his eyes. However, he covered quickly at Harry, "So you need all your friends now you can't hide behind those robes?"

"I told you before, Llewellyn, I never hide behind anything," Harry growled back, some interesting ideas for teaching this bigoted fool a lesson popping into his head. "I don't need a gang of buddies and snide remarks to make my point, I'll tell you I think you're a narrow-minded windbag to your face."

Harry saw the snap in his opponent before he'd even raised the wand he was holding. Duelling was an art form, and in this field, the young Auror was a grand master. He sent off two spells to Llewellyn's one, first his own hex, and then a defence against a rather pathetic nose-lengthening jinx that any first year at Hogwarts could have improved upon. Harry smiled to himself as his curse hit his enemy, and then laughed as the man's only complaint when his own cast rebounded back at him and his nose shot out from his face was a bark of surprise. The Welshman tried to have another go, waving his wand, but all that came out of his mouth was a series of growls and woofs. Harry gloated, hands on hips, and told him, "Now you can make all the dog noises you want."

Llewellyn hadn't learnt, and he started to yell at his adversary, filling the room with barking. The man gesticulated at his opponent, and from the hand signals, he was definitely not being polite, but with some satisfaction, Harry just laughed -- he was off duty and a free agent, and he revelled in his success. The choice of jinx from his adversary had reduced the young man's concern over the enemy he had made, since its childish nature felt so insignificant compared with the weight of the other very adult and harmful spells under which he had suffered.

"Nice one, Harry," Ron commended, leaning over the table and slapping his friend's back.

However, no-one was letting their guard down, especially since Llewellyn's groupies climbed to their feet to back up their afflicted companion.

"Appropriate," Remus let his opinion be known, but his tone was serious as the hostilities threatened.

People were edging their chairs out of the way again, but Harry didn't want a bigger confrontation -- he'd made his point and he was rather looking forward to lunch.

"Llewellyn it's been a stressful morning, don't push me or the next spell won't wear off in half an hour," he warned seriously while carefully giving his adversary an approximate timeframe for the current jinx.

The young man didn't know if the threat of a tableful of Aurors was more successful than his personal caution, but the Welshman chose to back off. From his body language, he clearly threw a threat back at Harry, but it came out as a growl and a couple of yaps, so whatever it was, the recipient ignored it and turned back to his seat. He quite deliberately sat down, pulling Draco back into his chair as well, but the others hovered between standing and sitting until all pairs of eyes showed that their enemies had left the room.

"You shouldn't have turned your back on him," Remus advised as everyone began retaking their seats.

"Bark bark woof is not a very effective spell," Harry returned lightly, not stopping the grin that slipped onto his features at the rather resounding success of his choice, "and anyway, I want my lunch."

The werewolf laid a heavy stare on him for a moment, but he just smirked back, and so eventually the man lightened and with a shake of the head, asked, "And how long had you been planning that little gem?"

"A few days, Draco's been inspiring me in the area of fitting revenge," he answered and patted his lover's arm.

The blond smiled broadly, and offered, "I am glad I'm being a good influence. Wouldn't do for all you Gryffindors not to pick up some useful Slytherin traits."

Harry was very happy when that created an unselfconscious laugh around the table. Even Seamus didn't seem to object to anything in the quip.

[A good start,] he thought to himself, and then reached leisurely for his cup.


	51. Celebration, Speculation and Magic

Dinner had been a light affair, no difficult questions, in fact the trivia had begun to grate on Harry's nerves by the time Albus packed away the table in his own unique fashion, and morphed the dining chairs into sitting room lounges for a comfortable after-dinner drink around the fire. A lull had fallen as soon as the drinks had been poured as most eyes watched firelight reflected in their brandy and searched for some more trivia. Ron and Hermione had been provided with a small sofa and were cuddled together comfortably. Harry had noted that he and Draco had not been afforded a similar option, despite the fact that they were in a private group, and he thought Draco had also observed the careful way in which Albus had seated them together but in quite high-armed chairs, since his look had been half-amused, half-disappointed when he'd been faced with the furniture. Still, they were making do, and their host was having to put up with an obvious stretch of limbs as they had both reached out to touch each other over the tops of their seats. Harry was enjoying the neck-stroke from Draco, and he wriggled a little further into his seat, ignoring the stare from Severus which had been disapproving him since the beginning of the meal.

Ginny was contemplating the fire more directly than anyone else, having settled for the rug in front of the flames at Minerva's feet. The old witch had a protective eye on the younger woman, as the girl's unguarded expression gave away some of the difficult thoughts that had come to her during the quiet time. Harry knew the ease with which memories could bother the unwary mind, and he felt for his friend, but did not disturb her contemplation, he didn't know how to. Albus watched all his guests, calm and serene as usual, observing and making his own conclusions while waiting for someone else to begin the conversation.

Whether deliberately or not, it was Draco who provided the source of a new dialogue. His brandy balloon was resting on a table next to the chair, but it was just out of reach to the way in which he was leaning towards his lover. Instead of shifting position, he reached out, and Harry's instincts lurched as the wizard drew the glass across the wooden surface into his waiting hand. Hermione saw, Hermione noted the suppression bangle on his wrist and she gasped as the pieces didn't fit. Then she shared her opinion, "I thought that bracelet stopped you performing magic."

Draco smiled, and did shift position this time, much to Harry's regret. His gaze went from the witch to the bracelet's creator and back again before he returned, "Oh, I don't think it was ever designed to stop me working magic completely, was it Albus? Just in case of trouble?"

The wily old sorcerer just smiled enigmatically, and raised his fingers together and then to his lips. No-one was really expecting a reply, and Severus made the assumption of the affirmative as he asked in true Slytherin fashion, "So, Draco, where would you and Potter be now if things had gone badly this morning?"

"Peru," his fellow returned, and Harry sat up in shock. His brandy nearly went down his clothing as he repeated in disbelief, "Peru?!"

"Harry," Draco looked at him as though he were explaining something to a child, "I'm a Slytherin, surely you didn't expect me to go in there without a backup plan of some kind."

"No," he countered, knowing he hadn't really expected that, "but I'd only got as far as getting us out of the room, let alone the building if something went wrong, and you'd got us a far as Peru. Why Peru?"

The blond patted his leg, and with a smile enlightened, "Peru has no extradition with anywhere in Europe or the United States. Also, the wizard priests at Nascar are powerful enough not to be afraid of anything. I'd have been able to pass their entry tests without a problem, and they'd have given us sanctuary even from Voldemort, and been able to sustain it."

Harry sat back in his chair and wondered at the detail of his partner's planning. However, he was not given much time to contemplate the workings of Draco's mind, because Albus chose to ask a question of his own. Smoothly, but deliberately, he interjected, "Of course, there would have been more opportune moments for escape before the hearing, when security was less prevalent. Why did you undertake such a risky venture, Draco?"

The look that passed between young and old was, to Harry, unreadable. Draco's eyes narrowed as they regarded Dumbledore, and his face straightened, but it was not with hostility, but something else, almost contemplation. Albus regarded his guest over his glasses and waited for a response. Then suddenly his lover broke the moment, and Harry was surprised when a deep gaze of concern came round to him, and Draco answered, "I stayed for Harry's sake."

Harry felt warm and worried all at the same time: warm that his partner had cared enough to be where he had wanted to be, but worried that he had doubted his allegiance. That anxiety came out more strongly than, but was mixed with, the lesser odd gladness as he asked, "Didn't you think I'd go with you?"

"No it wasn't that," the man answered, squeezing his arm, "it was because I thought you would."

Harry's heart skipped a beat as all his emotions confused and he was left with the long look from his lover to try and make sense of them all again. Someone else wanted clarity as well, and Ron's voice was strained between hurt and the understanding he had promised to attempt in their midnight conversation as he asked, "Would you have left us all again?"

The answer came from deep inside, and it was very small by the time it reached Harry's vocal chords, but he said it with his whole being as he replied, "Yes."

* * *

Things had gone quiet again after the blatant honesty. Not even Severus Snape had taken the opportunity to throw in his usual snide remark. Minerva had bravely started the conversation again after the silence had started to get awkward, and Hermione and Ginny had joined in. However Ron and Harry had not joined in. Draco had said nothing as Harry had turned and met the uncertain gaze of his best friend, but his hold on his arm had tightened just enough to express support.

The friends shared a look across the room. Ron Weasley, compared with the guarded Slytherin, was easy to read, and he hid none of his shock at the certain answer Harry had given to his question. Yet, any betrayal he was feeling was muted by realisation -- Harry could see that his friend had finally begun to appreciate just how much his relationship with Draco meant to him. That knowledge and the fact that Ron was not yelling at him about it made Harry feel safer about the two loyalties he was balancing. It was going to take more talking to iron out the hurt that he could see in Ron's manner, but he was more certain that his best friend and his lover would be able to share him than he had been since the revelations had come out. Hoping his contentment with what he felt for Draco was also as easy to read in his face, Harry smiled at Ron, and then decided to rejoin the conversation.

Harry was just in time to catch Ginny's final words, although, in truth, they were unintelligible. The young woman put her hand over her mouth, as the vowels in her speech stretched out and destroyed all the consonants in a yawn. The uniquely social expression quickly caught up with her watchers, and Harry wasn't the only one to start to stifle the same gesture. Having started first, Ginny recovered first, and, her hand still partially over her lips, she chuckled at the inspiration she had been. Minerva patted her shoulder, and observed directly to Albus without the merest hint of a yawn, "It seems that the younger generation does not have the same stamina as their elders."

"So it would appear," the old man joined in the tease with a smile, but then asked more seriously, "I take it from these signs of fatigue that our company will be declined in rather shorter order than our glasses may suggest."

The yawners all looked around at each other, and the tiredness was indeed in them all. Harry took the initiative, and answered for everyone, "I think you're right, Albus. It's been a long day."

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, as nods backed up the spokesperson. "Then I must beg a private moment of Draco's time, and then I shall let you all go to your beds."

The two men stood up; Harry watched them walk towards the far end of the room, trying not to be nosey as Albus had somewhat laboured the word 'private', but he couldn't help the curiosity which he had about all things Draco Malfoy.

"Ron, is there any word from your parents on their arrival?" Minerva struck up the conversation again.

"Next day or so," he replied, and his excitement drew Harry half way back to the group.

"I can't wait," Hermione bounced in her seat and drew smiles from everyone as all her weariness dropped away the moment she spoke about her family. "We're all packed and ready for the move to the family rooms tomorrow."

"I'll give you a hand moving boxes if you need it," Harry offered, albeit a little distractedly as he watched Albus and Draco begin their own discourse.

"Thanks, Mate," Ron accepted.

"That is of course if Draco can spare you," Severus didn't miss a snide-moment opportunity this time, and earned himself a hard stare and Harry's full attention.

"Now, now, Severus," Ginny interjected lightly, "being joined at the hip is just an allowance we all have to make for young love."

Her brother snorted brandy down his nose, which, more than the gentle tease, made Harry laugh. He turned away from Snape, making a glance back on his talking lover, before countering to Ginny, "Oh, and the google eyes you're making with Dean are another are they?"

"Yes," the young woman half pouted, half smiled, "they are."

"It is good to see you two back together," Hermione decided to add her t'penn'th, and was backed up by rumbles of agreement. "We always thought you made a good couple, but after that fight you were both just too stubborn."

"Gryffindors," the quip came, but it wasn't from Snape, it was from Minerva, and she was smiling widely.

"We're taking it slowly this time," Ginny warned, but there was a secret little grin playing over her features as she spoke, and her eyes showed that her thoughts, accompanied by the good alcohol they had all consumed that evening, were drifting beyond 'slowly' and back to where Harry guessed they had been as teenagers.

Also enjoying the same glow, Harry let his own mind wander that way as well, and the gaze that he set back on Draco's well-formed behind was not merely curious. The younger Malfoy had just tipped his head back a little way, and he was laughing. He shook his white mane attractively as he looked back at Albus, and then Harry's groin throbbed as a glance came his way. Draco's eyes narrowed as he met the unexpected regard from Harry, and it was clear he knew exactly what Harry was thinking. The blond looked away first, returning to his conversation, but Harry forced himself back to the present company as well before his thoughts embarrassed his body.

"Don't be too slow," he advised, "you don't want to take as long as these two," and he gave Ron and Hermione an impudent grin.

Ron looked suitably aghast, but Hermione just smiled and wrapped herself closely around the ready bluster in her husband. Harry hung on to his libido as he was given a glimpse of why Ron had spent a large part of the Summer term of his Sixth year looking very dishevelled. The woman's voice was silky as she returned, "Long time getting there, long time staying there."

Harry wasn't about to delve into the depths of innuendo in that suggestion, he was already beginning to feel the thought that he and his lover had had on hold since the morning. Instead, he laughed, and announced, "Touché."

He took a swig of his brandy, and was very glad when Hermione accepted her victory graciously and unclamped herself from her partner. Ron looked a little bit put out, but then, Harry thought that maybe tiredness was going to take second place when the other couple were alone as well if her tease had had similar effects on Ron as it had with him (Hermione and he had never been more than just friends, given her attachment to Ron, but that didn't mean that the curve of her body or the pout of her lips had ever passed him by; he wasn't sure if Hermione was aware that he had found her attractive since he'd started noticing things like that, or not, but given the deliberate show and the challenging cast of her gaze at him, he thought that she probably was). He was still vaguely fixated by the leftover tease and trying not to let it show when a hand on his shoulder sent all the right signals at the wrong time right through his body. He started, and turned in his seat as the adrenalin rush threatened to make him rather obvious.

"Time to go," Draco told him, smiling as he saw the colour rising in Harry's cheeks. Then he turned politely to his hosts and said, "Thank you, Minerva, Albus, for a lovely meal. It was a wonderful evening."

"Our pleasure," Albus spoke for the pair as everyone got to their feet.

"We should be going, as well," Hermione agreed, and Ginny chimed in with a, "Me too." Severus didn't say anything, but he joined the group as they all headed towards the door.

"Thank you all for coming," Minerva dismissed, a note of regret in her voice as Albus opened the door.

Severus just inclined his head in silent politeness as he passed both his hosts on the way out. Hermione kissed both her friends good night, and Ron shook hands. Ginny wrapped Minerva in a hug, and gave Albus a light peck on his cheek. It must have been a Slytherin thing, because Draco followed his ex-House Master's lead, but added more thank yous to his formality. Harry kissed Min and shook hands with Albus. The old man gave him a look as he left which said he was thinking about him again, and it made his mentee ask Draco as they stepped into the corridor, "What were you talking about."

"You," Draco answered nonchalantly.

Harry's consternation drew a laugh from the other Gryffindors who were waiting in the hallway to say goodnight.

"You did ask," his lover told Harry unsympathetically.

"And you're not going to tell me any more, are you?" Harry mourned.

"No," was the simple reply.

"Night, night," Ginny interrupted the moment by planting a kiss on first Harry's and then Draco's cheek, "sleep well."

"And you," Harry returned, really meaning it.

"Good night," Hermione kissed her friend and then added, "See you tomorrow, early,"

He nodded as Draco was given a more formal peck.

"Night, Mate, Draco," Ron finished, and then the Weasleys set off in the opposite direction to their companions.

Harry waved once more as he and Draco disappeared around a corner, and then he found himself yanked out of sight. Suddenly he was against the wall, a body close to him, and lips heavily on his. He responded without restraint as wine and the very long day made him reckless for the public corridor in which they were stood. Only the need to breath brought the pair apart again, and Draco's wild side was blatant on his face as he kept his lover pinned to the wall with his body. Gasping for breath, Harry suggested, "How about we apparate back to the room?"

He felt the push of power into him before he had finished the sentence, and letting his instincts go, Harry decided where he wanted them to be.

* * *

Apparating while otherwise distracted was something which the rule book advised heavily against, but as the couple arrived in their room, right next to the bed, which was pretty much where Harry had wanted them to be, he concluded they weren't splinched and was ready for the familiar push from his lover which sent him sprawling back onto the mattress. Avoidance of splinching was fortunate, but other consequences of passion during the magical travel made themselves known to both young wizards as Harry tried to reign in his instincts. The magical loan had been similar to that which Draco had given Harry to transport everyone to the infirmary, and Harry had reacted without really thinking about it; however, now he was lying underneath his partner's hot body, more than ready to let him retake control, he found that he couldn't let go. Draco was a mass of wild emotion and magic, close in both body and mind; he rushed into Harry like a raging torrent into a valley, with little regard for the destruction caused along the way. Harry whined as he remembered the intoxicating onslaught he had taken from a helpless friend at the very beginning of his magical transformation, and he responded to its twin with a similar knowledge of its devastating power. This wasn't succubus or fire gelf or any other magical being, this was raw Draco, unfocused, out of control, and Harry let him in with no chance of closing the flood gates. Every fibre woke on both the physical and psychical levels, as the magic threatened and enticed in equal amounts.

The flow of power in itself was not innately erotic, but coupled with the way in which Draco's hands played over his body, and the way Draco's lips covered his, the intimate energy sparked passion in Harry which responded to it with as much fervour again. The heady instincts drowned any conscious thought, replacing it with sensation and baser things; Harry ran his palms up under his lover's shirt, over his smooth back, and let his impulses rule. Swamped in magic, the young wizard made contact with it as he had before: his heart skipped a beat as it answered. The initial dialogue was small, a shift in the eddies of power, but Harry felt it as though it were a bright beacon, and it encouraged his instincts still further. The connection made, there was no stopping it, and a jolt went through Harry's body as the flow altered its course and answered his amorous intentions. He was still gloriously out of control, and it wasn't so much thought as lust which led him as Harry drew the tumult under his command.

If he felt the new aspect to the power-connection, it did not distract Draco from the ravishing he was applying to Harry. Buttons departed their lodgings as his fervour got the better of him, and Harry's head spun in the mix of magic and sex. The power obeyed him as Harry responded to the intoxicating potion, and then his lover did recognise him: Draco groaned, long and deep, as his own re-directed sorcery ran back over his skin carrying much of Harry's desire with it. Harry smiled in satisfaction as his partner trembled and then collapsed against him with an out-rush of breath. The young wizard revelled in the new dimension and took control by rolling his helpless lover onto his back and underneath him.

"Bastard," Draco gasped, but most of his comment disappeared into a pant and Harry found himself fascinated by the frown of consternated pleasure on the sharp features as he held himself up to view his handiwork.

The power still whipped through him, but the frenzy had backed off to a heady presence connecting him to his partner as soon as Harry had mastered it, and he slowed his assault as Draco responded. The blue eyes he loved so much were closed, and, maintaining his magical contact with one hand, Harry reached up and pulled off the pointless glasses from Draco's face. The effect was unexpected by both lovers. The shifting magical field from the removal of the counteractive measures created a shockwave in the flow of wizard power, and it ran swiftly from Draco through Harry and back over its source's flesh: Draco grabbed bedclothes and tipped his head back with a cry of surprised ecstasy. The magic pressed enough pleasure centres in Harry to make his hold of reality slip out for a moment, but as he came back against a panting, glistening lover, all his passion fired at once. The controller ripped off his own glasses, discarding them without much thought and stifled the end of Draco's gasps with his lips. Draco barely responded, weak and distracted by the power-play, and as the thrill of it ran through Harry, he decided he liked his partner that way. With the feedback titillation, the man below him was going to allow him to do anything he wanted, Harry knew it; with the power he was being given, Harry knew he had the ability to do exactly what he wanted: his heart pounding with the possibility, the lover set about a proper celebration.

* * *

Harry kissed the enticing hip bone, and then laid his cheek on Draco's flat stomach, his gaze coming to rest on the promising beginnings of another erection further down his lover's damp body. Yet he rested where he was a while, content in pause and enjoyed the sensation as Draco's fingers slid into his hair with a gentleness which also signified the slow-down in their love making. The raw-power-fuelled encounter had left them both drained and, from their silent petting, Harry concluded, a little dazed. He wasn't exactly sure what he had done, which worried him a little, but not enough to really impinge on the after-glow. Leaving those thoughts aside, he drew in a satisfied, deep breath and concentrated on the wonderful feel of nails scratching lightly over his scalp.

"What are you thinking?" the whimsical enquiry disturbed his peaceful reverie.

"Apart from admiring the view?" Harry returned with a small sigh that came with the effort of having to put together a sentence.

"Apart from admiring the view," Draco laughed with soft dismissiveness, but Harry recognised the erotic spark his words created through the extra attention that was lavished on his crown: leisurely, he ran his hand up over the outside of his lover's thigh and danced his fingers down the inside, knowing it wouldn't be long before he had Draco ready for him again. "Don't avoid the question, Potter," came the slightly more insistent push, but the catch that came between the last few words as Harry teased the sensitive skin of Draco's balls told him that he wouldn't have to answer if he didn't want to.

Yet Harry was tired of control. He had led the sex more by instinct than judgement, and he had enjoyed every minute, but he missed the natural lead that was in the man who had drawn him into his new sexuality: answering the question would bring that back.

"I was trying to make sense of how we got here," he admitted quietly, returning to the less direct titillation of stroking Draco's relaxed thigh.

"You don't remember?" the enquiry was no longer idle; Draco's voice gained more clarity and a part of Harry regretted having answered. Yet the conversation had been started now, and so he lifted his head from his sensual pillow and looked across at his questioner.

"Not clearly," he returned with a shrug and a wrinkle of his nose, but he didn't stifle the smile which crossed his features as the thought of their abandon flooded him with heat, and he added, "but I liked it."

Draco laughed again and sat up, his hand that had dropped from Harry's hair when he had shifted now reaching out to cup the other man's face.

"I wondered if you would," he sounded far away as his own thoughts ran back over their lust. "You felt like you were away with the -," he paused and then, by the tone of his voice, reassessed his analogy as he decided, "sex demons."

"There was only one demon," Harry kissed his lover's palm, "possessing me:" he kissed again, "you," and he flicked his tongue between his lips.

Draco accepted the nuzzle, stretching out his palm in pleasure as Harry nipped and licked his pale skin. Yet he was not completely distracted from the dialogue, and he observed with a mixture of desire and mystery to his tone, "Harry, you controlled magic without the aid of a wand."

The young wizard smiled into the palm he was caressing and answered, "It was incredible, but you provided a very unique incentive that I think makes it a very private skill."

"I'm not talking about the sex," Draco condescended lovingly and then slid his hand round behind Harry's neck; "although I will agree that it was enlightening;" Harry shifted up onto his knees following a come hither pull bringing his face closer to his partner's, and looked directly into the expression of pride and instruction which then told him, "Harry, you Apparated us without using your wand."

That memory was clear, but as he ran it back through his mind, that fact made his mouth open in protest, but he wasn't sure about what exactly he wished to protest. Draco laughed as his fuzzy eyesight picked out the obvious expression, and countered the unspoken, gut reaction with, "Only a Gryffindor would try to deny the evidence in front of him."

"You must have done it," Harry finally found his words.

"I gave you the boost, you directed the magic," his lover returned definitely, and then placed a kiss on the end of his nose.

"But," Harry began another objection and found it smothered by a more passionate kiss: his thoughts flipped out as passion sparked easily in the tinder box atmosphere and he responded strongly. It was rather disappointing when Draco broke the embrace before it had really begun, pushing Harry away, but his lover's long fingers played lightly at the nape of his neck, so the young man wasn't too upset. Harry looked back into his partner's features, and knew their conversation wasn't finished. His expression was half consternation and half admiration as far as Harry could tell as Draco observed, "Albus was right, you are as stubborn as an immovable sloth."

Harry wasn't sure he liked being compared to the magical creature that could only be removed from the branch of tree it had chosen by blast curses, and especially not in someone else's conversation: he frowned, and complained, "So this is what you two were talking about behind my back?"

"Don't be angry," Draco soothed, rubbing a little harder and snaking his other hand up over Harry's back, "Albus is just concerned about us both. Removing the runes took us both to our limits, and we have to accept that it changed us; I hope for the better. We're dealing with my symptoms, but you opened up to the magic as well, I felt you close to me when you took all that power inside for me, and we have to deal with your consequences as well."

"So you decided now was a good time to experiment?" Harry snarked, angry despite the plea, as the feeling he had been used marred the memory of the encounter.

"Let's just say your suggestion for Apparating sparked a spur of the moment decision," his lover held on to him as he shifted away from the closeness, irksomely calm despite Harry's reaction. Harry turned his back on the player, but paused in his flight as Draco added, "but you surprised me when we got back here, you wouldn't let go."

Harry froze, unsure about what he concluded were implications that he had forced things. Draco's hand still rested on his shoulder, and he squeezed supportively as he soothed, "And don't worry about that; I started it, and you took us places I didn't expect, but I wouldn't mind going there again. Harry, the important thing is that, even if we can't name them all like we can the Apparate spell, you cast at least a dozen more spells tonight, and you did it all without a wand: that's incredible."

It may have been incredible from Draco Malfoy's perspective, but for down-to-Earth, straight-forward Gryffindor, Harry Potter, it was rather worrying; he didn't have magic stacked up inside himself, or five years of preparation to blame for any strangeness, and even if he could stem it all back to the impulsive way he had saved Draco's life during the rune removal, it still made him feel out of control, and not in the exciting way it had a few minutes ago.

"You're going to worry even if I tell you not to, aren't you Potter?" Draco chided, shifting closer behind the uncertain statue Harry had become, resting his chin on his shoulder. "Wandless magic is nothing to be afraid of. I was experimenting with it before I left school. It's a difficult branch of magic, but nothing that isn't already on the books."

Draco kissed Harry on his shoulder blade, but the lover was less willing to be beguiled this time and he didn't respond. The blond drew back a little, but his hands ran either side of Harry's torso and fingers began to play over his six-pack. Draco's tone changed as he diverted, "We can talk about this later, Harry, for now, you didn't splinch us, you didn't cause any damage," another kiss, " not that I didn't want you to anyway, so can we forget it and get on with celebrating my new found freedom?"

The stroking did exactly what it was supposed to, and Harry relaxed back a little into the hold of his partner. Draco breathed deeply at his small success, and it grew into a warm murmur of desire as Harry gave no resistance to being pulled down onto the bed. Draco's hold pulled him down onto his side, and then there was another body spooned close behind his. Harry wriggled even closer and was rewarded by the touch of Draco's growing arousal against his buttocks. He moved his hips, and his lover bit his shoulder blade, stifling a moan as the come-on helped the stiffening organ on its way. Harry's own desire began to build as the erotic reprimand told him who was going to be boss this time; he relaxed into the control of his partner and let out a whisper of pleasure as warm, moist lips softened the sharpness of the little needles that the bite had created.

Draco continued to kiss and nip and stroke Harry's torso. The supplicant knew what his lover wanted by the way his hands moved gradually lower down his body, and the compulsive way his erection was held close to his arse. Yet he waited to be led where Draco wanted him to go, not bending his upper leg, nor rolling over a little way until a palm ran along his thigh and requested the movement. Almost immediately, Draco took advantage of the better access he had initiated and applied his cock to the offered opening: Harry gasped and tensed, as the dry, unprepared muscle resisted the intrusion.

"Draco," he objected, wondering why his lover had not cast the usual charm to lubricate the union, but the penetrator had already stopped his movement before he caused any pain, still pressed hard against the willing, but unready entry. It was tantalising torment: Harry groaned and locked his muscles to prevent the movement back against the teasing presence that his body wanted, as his mind warned him that it would hurt.

"You want me?" Draco asked, his voice thin with effort as he held back from what had to be a similarly agonising edge.

"Yes," Harry answered, perplexed by the deliberate omission. He whined as the press against his anus got harder and caused the first burning warning, but at the same time urged him to seek the satisfaction of full penetration.

"Then make us ready," his lover instructed, his nails digging in to Harry's leg as he struggled to hold his position.

Harry's words of objection disappeared into gasps: if Draco pushed any further, it was going to hurt, but Harry still wanted him.

"Think of how you want us to be and make it so," his lover insisted, and followed his words with a small suggestion of magic.

Harry's instincts leapt on the offering as desire and disaster warred for dominion over the sex. He wanted the firm, demanding cock inside him very badly, but his rational brain had no idea how to meet the prerequisites.

"Draco please," he begged for resolution, but his master was not to be swayed by such pleas.

"Don't think, just do," Draco ordered, and moved a little as the strain of his position proved too much.

"Oh Merlin!" Harry cried out, as he knew they had crossed the line and he struggled to make himself as ready as he could for the imminent, tearing intrusion. He could do nothing to control the sexual reflex that moved him to take the penetration, and the knot of trepidation and wont exploded in his spirit.

Harry groaned as he was opened, but panted away his shock as the shaft slid between his muscles, glossy and unresisted. The entry was direct, and from the movement, Harry had expected deep invasion, however, to his further consternation, Draco stopped himself before he had pushed very far: the young man growled.

"Harry," his lover gasped, worry and guilt in his tone, "Harry, are you alright?"

"Shut up," he snarled, letting out the peevishness at the near miss that only lucky instinct had avoided and, pushing back enough to cause a moan from the root of blame, ordered, "Just fuck me."

Draco needed no other instruction, and the satisfaction as he was filled pushed away Harry's feelings over how the encounter had begun. He reached down to where his partner's hand rested on his thigh and entwined his fingers with Draco's. A kiss of recognition told him that his snap had not been taken to heart, and then his grip was returned. Pulling his lover's arm around himself, Harry returned the press of lips on the tangle of fingers and then submitted his pleasure to Draco's control once more.


	52. Families!

Someone was knocking on a door that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, and very soon after it, Harry found that someone was trying to shake him off his broom.

"Ansthedoor," a very muffled, sleepy voice sounded close to his ear, despite the fact that he was skimming the grass at high speed after a low-flying snitch. Then it all went quiet again, and Harry returned to concentrating on the little glinting ball ahead of him. However, whoever wanted entry to the sports' field from the other side of the over-sized door had merely paused, because the knocking started again, and the door loomed suddenly closer to the flyer, close enough for an imminent collision. With a gasp, Harry tensed and attempted to perform an avoidance swerve. However, the would-be broom-deseater shook him with more ferocity this time, and thwarted any suggestion that he could get out of the way of the huge wooden panel that had interrupted the game.

"ANSTHEDOOR!" came a more desperate sound which was really very loud right next to his ear.

Harry woke up with a start just before he hit the door; Draco rolled over in disgust at the noise he made, and buried his head under a pillow. The awakener took a moment to let go of the recent sense of flying and then the world descended right back onto his shoulders. Every muscle he had strained and every lustful scratch he had been given the previous evening came back to haunt Harry Potter, and with a groan which spoke of the very few hours sleep he had actually had, the young man collapsed back on to the pillows.

However, the knocking hadn't been a dream, and whoever was outside was being very persistent with an annoyingly polite rap on the couple's front door. From beneath the protective feathers came another, "Ansthedoor," and Draco dug Harry in the ribs with his elbow. The noise and the sharp jabbing to his side was just about worse than the aching when he moved, so, gingerly, Harry slid to the edge of the bed. He reached out to the bedside table, and as his fingers closed around thin air he remembered his over-exuberant fling of his precious glasses to locations unknown. With another groan, and a squint, Harry stood up, and, since he couldn't be bothered to find a dressing gown, dragged the blanket with him. There was minor resistance and a feather-filled complaint from the bed's second occupant, but Harry was more awake and got away with the major warmth before the sleeper could grab it properly. Harry watched with self-righteous satisfaction as his headless boyfriend hastily pulled the much thinner under sheet around himself, but was not given the ultimate reward of having woken him completely, because once some protection had been gained, Draco stopped moving again and quite clearly relaxed back into sleep.

Wondering why being quite so rough had appealed at the time, Harry began a slow progress to the door. The person outside could have won awards for perseverance and was becoming mildly annoying by the time Harry had his fingers on the handle, and it was with speed inspired by said annoyance that the occupier opened his door. He shoved his head around the door jar and prepared to give the wizard or witch on the other side a tart address, but he was silenced by the fact that his wrath was being aimed at totally the wrong height. It took the sleepy man a couple of seconds to realise that his visitor was much shorter than a human, and by then, the house elf had made herself even smaller by almost bowing in half.

"Yes?" Harry managed, somewhere between testy and surprised.

"Harry Potter, Sir?" the female, who was petite even for a house elf looked up at him with eyes about twice too big for her slender face.

"You found me," Harry returned with a shrug, the bright smile he was being sent making him feel guilty about being so short with the little creature.

"Hermione Weasley suggested that Harry Potter may require a wake up call this morning," she bounced on her heels as she delivered the message.

Harry's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline, and then he groaned as he remembered why his friend would have sent the elf: he did not relish the thought of having to move further than a few feet that morning, let alone help move umpteen boxes.

"Is something wrong, Sir?" the house elf asked, her ears beginning to turn down.

"No, no," Harry responded rapidly, disliking the sign of upset in the little creatures, and he diverted, "What time is it?"

"A quarter to six, Sir," she replied with obscene brightness once more, and told another quieter groan, "Madame Weasley says that she will provide breakfast once all the moving has been done."

Harry leant his head against the door and closed his eyes for a delicious moment. However, into the silence came a surreptitious cough: he opened his eyes again and squinted at the unsure features of his visitor.

"May Jerety tell Hermione Weasley that Harry Potter will be arriving at six thirty?"

"Yes," Harry sighed, and with that, the house elf bowed once more and then tripped off up the corridor.

Still hanging onto the door handle as if it were the only thing keeping him upright, Harry turned back to the mess that was his room. Clothes were scattered all around the bed; Harry couldn't tell if they were in one piece or not, and at that moment he didn't want to know. The outline of arse and muscled body below the thin white sheet woke his dreamy brain a little, but only the vindictive part. Draco looked so relaxed, quite frankly too relaxed in Harry's book, and with that one thought in mind, Harry pulled back the panel and swung it forward with as much force as his aching body could muster. The slam hurt his ears, and Harry gritted his teeth; there was a slight start from the bed, but the headless body relaxed again almost immediately and stretched languidly out into a sprawl which took up the place where Harry had been laying as well. Harry's brain went places other than the peevishness of having been forced out of bed when faced with the inviting spread-eagle, but he stomped on his urges (well almost) as he crossed to what had been Draco's side of the bed, planted a knee between his lover's legs and leant up over the length of his torso. That was more successful in gaining a response, the pillow lifted off the mattress as Draco took notice of the flesh close to his. However, when Harry asked him, "I'm going to help Hermione and Ron move, are you coming or staying here?" the pillow dropping again was his only answer. Disappointed, but not surprised, Harry stood back up, discarded the blanket on the floor and headed to the bathroom.

Harry had dropped the soap twice already when cold air on his damp skin inspired another fumble. A sickeningly co-ordinated hand pressed the slippery bar and scrabbling fingers up against Harry's chest, thus avoiding the descent, and with the same pressure, Draco pushed his partner backwards and made room for himself in the cubicle. His eyes were half-closed, and his face said that he was as happy about the early morning as Harry; Draco glared at his companion and made his opinion known with, "This hour is unseemly: I trust Madame Weasley cooks a palatable breakfast."

* * *

The only good thing about the morning so far was the fact that Draco's eyesight had improved during the little rest he had received that night, to the extent that he could see better without his glasses than with. Hence, having been retrieved from under the bed, where, oddly enough, both pairs of spectacles had migrated during the enthusiastic strip of the previous evening, the magical pair of glasses was safely in its box in Draco's pocket for return to Poppy. Everything, he had said, was still green, but pretty much undistorted.

Draco's eyes may have been on the mend, but his face was showing the same signs of discomfort as Harry was feeling. Neither man had fancied asking Neville if he had any lotions for sore unmentionables, or mentionables for that matter, which might have involved explaining how they came by their injuries, and so, they were having to put up with the results of their adventures without any relief. Coupled with the grey, sleep-deprived pallor of his skin, Harry knew he looked awful, but that consideration was rammed home when he and Draco walked into a room well on the way to being packed. Ginny and Hermione had their heads in trunks, but looked up as their helpers arrived; their faces said everything.

"That bad?" Harry asked the round-eyed, slightly worried expressions.

Both women nodded, but it was Ron, who came out of the bathroom, most of its contents in his arms, who made the comment, "Blimey, how did you two get to look like zombies?" In a second, he had made eye contact with Harry, and his face went the colour of his hair as the answer appeared in his best friend's gaze. Harry's brain stumbled at Ron's embarrassment, unable to find anything to defuse the situation. However, Draco came to their rescue, as he answered dryly, "For your sanity as well as ours, Weasley, I believe we should decline to provide details. Suffice to say, we continued to celebrate considerably longer than most may have considered prudent given Harry's early morning promise. By the way, Hermione, the House Elf wake up call was inspired."

Mrs Weasley deftly picked up the conversation and pulled it further from the foot in mouth effort of her husband as she returned, "I do my best. And thank you for coming, Draco, I had not expected you to keep Harry's promises as well."

"At this time in the morning, if I hadn't come along, he'd have been lost on the other side of the building," Draco patted Harry's shoulder condescendingly, and Harry grimaced as he was laughed at, but said nothing as Draco's sacrifice of him on the humour pyre completed the diversion, and Ron laughed along with everyone else.

"Well, we started packing last night, so there isn't that much left," Hermione swung back into moving mode, and her eyes scanned the room, "but could you two pack the pile of books and things over there?" She pointed to one corner where a haphazard jumble of tomes and junk resided.

"No problem," Harry nodded.

Hermione had been right, it took only another few minutes to sort out the odds and ends that her preparation had omitted, and then it was time to transport everything to the new quarters. Moving boxes for wizards and witches did not have to be the heaving manual process that Muggles used, and the chosen method this time was a levitation spell or two. Hermione even bravely let Draco attempt to levitate his own box of not-too-valuable items, that was until very shortly after the box had left the ground and levitation turned into actual flying, when the box sprouted wings and danced around the room, scattering its contents as it went. After that, the apologetic wizard was nominated as supervisor for the sake of all the precious things that needed to travel between places gently; a role into which he sank his teeth and joined Hermione in directing their friends on what needed to go first and where. The two intellectuals were scarily efficient, and the others had shared a few choice words about not even Voldemort being able to stand up to the united bossiness of Hermione Weasley and Draco Malfoy.

Within the hour, the piles of boxes from the double room were spread out in the three room palace that was a family apartment. Hermione walked in to the main room at the rear of the last group having stayed behind to check they hadn't left anything behind. She set down her box, tutted at her husband who was already rummaging in one of the boxes for something he clearly wanted badly, and then looked towards the small kitchenette that, along with a suite of rooms, was the luxury of a family allocation. She smiled instantly, and clapped her hands together as she saw a pile of groceries on the sideboard.

"Oh I will have to thank Hetty and Malachi later," she exclaimed, walking over and picking up a large box of eggs, which was sat between a vine of tomatoes and a bag of fruit. "I only asked for these, but it looks like we'll eat very well this morning, the dears."

S.P.E.W.'s manifesto had changed over the years as Hermione's crusade had matured into understanding the psychology that made House Elves the compulsive servants that they appeared to be, but Harry had no doubt that she knew the names of every elf in the place by now. It appeared that such knowledge could be fruitful.

"Did someone mention food? I'm starving," the call came through the open front door, and there were instant sounds of delight from all the Weasleys.

Harry smiled broadly as well, warmed by the recognition of family, as Arthur Weasley appeared in the doorway. The travel-ruffled man put down a small person who had been curled in his arms, and Harry had only enough time to note that she was a flame-haired child before she became a fast moving missile who headed straight for her mother. Hermione scooped up the small form as another came dashing around her grandfather's legs and headed into her father's arms. For Harry, the joy on the parent's faces as they enveloped their young ones was a sight that wiped away all thoughts of war and destruction, and he saw the same kind of wonder on Draco's face. Arthur, grinning broadly, came further into the room, stepping to the side, and Molly bustled in behind him. As Ginny saw her mother, a sob came out of her mouth; instantly, Molly held out her arms, Ginny ran in to them and the woman clearly wrapped her daughter in all the love she had. Arthur patted his youngest on the shoulder, his smile now glistening, but he let his wife take charge of his overwhelmed child, and turned back to the others in the room.

Ron and Hermione had come together, and were in a kind of mass hug with their young family, so Arthur looked to the remaining singles.

"Harry," he greeted first, walking over and offering out a hand, "so good to see you." The young man took the palm and was pulled into a hug as Arthur's emotion got the better of him and he gabbled, "Thank you for getting my daughter out of that hell hole."

Harry hugged back, lost for words as he was swept up by the emotional reunion. When he was released, he just stood and watched with a little surprise as Arthur then moved to Draco. He grabbed the blond man's hand and began to shake it enthusiastically as he continued in a similar vein, "And thank you too, thank you." Draco looked stunned by the open man, but his manners kicked in as he responded, "My pleasure."

Molly, one arm still around her daughter, held out her other embrace to her adopted son, and Harry moved to her, and accepted the headlock into which he was pulled.

"Hello, Molly," he managed while having his face squashed into the woman's sufficient bossom.

"Boy," she greeted, kissing the crown she had dragged down to her level, "how are you?"

Harry didn't need to answer, as he was released and pushed away for a quick motherly inspection.

"You're too thin," came back from the scrutinizing gaze almost instantly, and Harry just smiled at her concern, "and you don't look like you're sleeping."

That caused a giggle through her tears from Ginny, and the raised-eyebrow incomprehension of the reaction from her mother corpsed Harry.

"Don't ask," Ginny warned, then stifling her laughter with a hand over her mouth.

"Really!" Molly chided, finally letting her daughter stand up by herself.

Further enquiry was interrupted by Hermione sweeping her family over to the group, calling, "Harry, these are our girls, Aithne," she nodded towards her little burden, who looked back at Harry very boldly and with some suspicion, "and Imogen," the second twin had her face buried in her father's shoulder, clearly not as brave as her sister. "Girls, this is your Uncle Harry."

The young man's grin got wider as he was introduced as family.

"Hello," he greeted his impromptu nieces, and was given a quick, shy little smile from Imogen under Ron's encouragement, but Aithne maintained her frown.

"And this is Draco," Hermione told her children as their grandfather dragged his companion over to the gathering company.

It appeared that a Malfoy rated more reaction from Aithne than a Potter, since her eyes widened, and somewhat in awe she asked, "Snowman?"

The blond man laughed lightly as Imogen drew from her sister's forwardness and joined her in wonder-filled stares at his pale hair and replied, "I've never been called that before. No, I'm not a snowman, but I can do this." Smartly, the wizard held out his hand to the bolder twin; Harry felt his instinct lurch, and then there was a lollypop sitting between Draco's closed fingers. Very much impressed, her face breaking into a smile for the first time, Aithne took the offering. Before any disquiet could be generated by one sibling having a gift while the other was bereft, Draco flourished his other hand towards Imogen, and a second lollypop appeared for her. This time a small 'tank u' came when the gift was taken, and then Imogen went back to hiding her face from the strangers.

"That is a good trick for beguiling children," Molly observed, some disapproval coming through her tone as Weasley regarded Malfoy.

"I try to practice when I can, but I do not believe Harry thought it was a good trick when I showered him in lollypops," Draco ignored the hostility completely as he turned on the charm.

"I wouldn't have minded the bruises so much if he'd left one for my sweet tooth, but he made them all disappear again," Harry joined in, and slipped his arm around his partner's shoulders.

Arthur and Molly had to have been warned about the new relationship, and Arthur hid any reaction very well, Molly however was more transparent as her disquiet at the move showed in her eyes. Harry knew he would have to talk with the protective woman at an opportune time, but for now he hoped she would contain her disapproval. Ginny decided not to let the moment stand, as she reminded everyone, "I think we started this with the suggestion of breakfast?"

The family Weasley waded in to any awkwardness as Arthur took over from his daughter enthusiastically, "Yes, yes, food, please, we've been travelling since three this morning."

"Thank heavens for House Elf over-catering," Hermione captured the standard and handed her charge over to Molly as she turned back to the kitchenette. "So, who's for a full English?"

The 'Ai's had it unanimously.

* * *

After his trick making thin air turn into lollipops (which, incidentally, father had collected from the two girls until after breakfast), Draco had proved himself a hit with the twins. To Harry's surprise, it appeared that the younger Malfoy also found the toddlers fascinating, because, when everyone else made seats around the room, Draco ended up being willingly dragged to the floor and playing games with the children. Hermione did not seem worried by this in the slightest, having made up her own mind about Draco since getting to know him, however, Grandma was watching the unknown quantity like a hawk; Harry was also watching him, but for very different reasons.

Draco was absolutely entrancing to his lover, sat cross-legged on the floor, his features untouched by the rigors of war-time life as he played patacake with Imogen and Aithne clambered over his back as though he were a climbing frame. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen his boyfriend's expression so free as when lost in the childish game, and it made him forget as well. The others continued to talk around him, and Harry made some appropriate noises from time to time, but he was becoming gradually more focused on the open curl at the edge of Draco's lips, and the sparkle in his wide eyes as he gave everything to the innocents who had accepted him without prejudgement: the young ones saw a family friend who had given them each a lollipop, Harry saw deeper, to the carefully guarded soul, and the freedom there made his own shoulders relax and created a warm buzz in his being.

A call of 'breakfast' from their mother, stopped the girls from monopolising their snowman, but as they both looked expectantly to the bringer of food, Draco chose instead to meet gazes with his obsessed watcher. Harry didn't try to hide the attention he'd been lavishing on his lover as Draco's smile told him that the man knew he had been being observed, instead he just smiled back, letting him see the effect the watching had had, before he too turned his attention to the delicious smell of bacon and eggs.

As a plate was handed to him, Harry decided that Hermione catered like a House Elf: even his appetite was going to have difficulties with the mountain of food before him. Ron, however, showed no such signs of being daunted by his plateful, but then he'd been brought up by Molly Weasley, so it was hardly surprising. Harry thanked his hostess and then surveyed the feast for a place to start. He'd more or less decided that the fried potato hillock next to the expanse of scrambled egg needed tackling first when a direct address interrupted the journey of his loaded fork from dish to mouth.

"You're quiet this morning, Harry;" Molly sounded like it hadn't been just Draco she'd been watching, and when the young man glanced her way, he was certain that it hadn't.

"Still half asleep," he returned as brightly as possible, trying to stifle the sinking feeling he had that, having just brought round one Weasley, he was now facing the same task with another.

"It was a late night, Mum," Ron was a surprise entrant to the conversation. "We all went to dinner at Albus'."

"And how is the old goat?" Arthur followed his son into the diversion and Harry began to wonder if Molly's reaction had been planned for.

"The same as always," Ginny laughed, and Harry's suspicion grew; the young man looked across at his adoptive mother, whose lips were pursed at the way things had been swept along, and they shared their common notion silently. Molly's lips went almost white when Draco found a leaning spot against the chair between Harry's legs: she still said nothing, but her breakfast sat on her lap untouched for a while.

"So, what do you think of Hogwarts Tutus so far?" Draco surprised both Harry and Molly as his head angled up and he addressed the disapproval with 'oblivious' polite conversation.

Molly looked surprised by the enquiry for a moment, then her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but finally she returned stiffly, "We haven't really seen much." Then Harry saw a flash of something else in her eyes and realised it was inspiration as a question was thrown back, "You have been here far longer, what is you opinion, Draco?"

"Just now, it's a lot better than the original Hogwarts," Draco answered, and by the suddenness of the tone and the way Draco's shoulders tensed between his knees, Harry knew without seeing his boyfriend's face that that comment had come out in a way that had not been intended.

Molly observed the response, not as subtle as Albus when he was making an assessment, and not as antagonistic as Snape, but clearly trying to make up her mind as to the genuineness of the slip. This time no family came to the rescue of the conversation, and a moment's silence fell as reality leaked back in to the room. Harry wasn't sure if the caring woman had been swayed by the unguarded admission, or whether she was still fishing, so he just listened as she continued with what he thought might have been sympathy, "I think we can all agree with that, Young Man."

"It takes some getting used to," Draco recovered himself with practiced efficiency, and Harry just knew there was an even smile on the face he couldn't see. "Don't expect to find your way around easily at first; Harry and I are still getting lost."

"So am I," Ginny agreed with a roll of her eyes. "I wanted to get to the library from Minerva's office the other day and I ended up at the charm's classroom, because that eccentric map can't tell its right from its left."

"When I first asked for directions, I nearly walked straight into the men's locker room at the gym," Hermione giggled as she recalled the incident; Ron looked aghast at that scandal, but his wife patted him on the knee reassuringly and told him, "I didn't see anything, Darling. I can read signs on doors, and the 'Wizards Only' rather gave away the fact that I wasn't at the dance studio."

"With that map, the devil's in the detail," Draco laughed. "But I think Harry and I are going to have plenty of time to learn our way around now."

That raised a few eyebrows, but no-one actually asked what he meant, so the young man enlightened openly, "I may be considered a refugee, but I'm not going to be welcomed into the Resistance with open arms, am I?" Silence: Draco shrugged and continued with brutal honesty, "Harry is tainted by association. Ginny will probably fare better now that she has a dashing young resistance fighter at her beck and call."

Ginny looked somewhere between embarrassed and pleased as Dean was mentioned.

"Oh does she now?" Molly took the bait and smiled at her child with an enquiring, I'm-not-going-to-judge-you-yet mother-daughter look superimposed over it. "And when do I get to meet this young hero?"

"It's Dean, Mum," Ginny disclosed, sounding like she'd been caught out, and then the rest of the room discovered why the child had not told her parent as Molly's lips pursed again and her protective hackles came up as she observed, "I thought that young man was never to darken your door again."

"We've both grown up a lot since then, Mum," the younger woman offered valiantly. "Dean's been really good to me since I arrived here."

"I should hope so too," Molly bristled still, defending her only daughter even if she didn't want her to.

"Well, we're glad for you, My Girl," Arthur displeased his wife one more time as he offered his congratulations; "Always thought you two should have made up sooner."

Ginny smiled at her father gratefully and Harry saw Molly's prickles begin to blunt as her husband laid a hand on her shoulder and rubbed. Molly could be infuriatingly stubborn some times, but Arthur had his gentle ways of making sense which did their work from time to time.

"I look forward to talking with him again," the matriarch finished the matter with a tone that told everyone who knew her that poor Dean was going to get a grilling in the near future: Harry shoved a helping of sausage into his mouth and tried to stifle any parallels his brain created with the previous day's hearing.

* * *

Molly Weasley was not the easiest person to placate, especially when it came to Malfoys. Just being a member of the most hated family in England might have been forgiven, but even Draco's charm offensive could not impinge on the woman's opinion, which came out through looks and guarded comments throughout breakfast and made very clear that she considered Draco to have led her Harry astray. Harry kept silent on the matter, warned by the body language of the rest of the company that now was not the time for confrontation, and so he was really rather frustrated and a little depressed by the time the excuse of Draco's daily appointment with Poppy gave he and his lover an avenue of escape.

Draco slipped his arm around his partner's shoulders as they left the Wealseys with the unpacking.

"Don't worry," he reassured with a smile, reading a silent Harry like a book, "Molly and I will come to terms."

"She's always fussed about me," Harry found himself apologising for the hostility of his loved-one.

"It's nice you have someone who cares in such black and white terms," Draco's tone suddenly became less sure as, to Harry's surprise, he admitted, "I wish my mother had been as willing to protect me."

Harry didn't have anything he could say to that. Draco didn't often speak about Narcissa, but from the little he had said he was clearly conflicted in his feelings for her. She had abandoned her son to the tyranny of his father, but Draco seemed unwilling to condemn her for it; knowing Lucius' viciousness as intimately as he did, Harry could understand the obedience of fear the Governor General inspired, but he kept the supposition on Narcissa's actions to himself as he saw the pain leave his boyfriend's face and a self-protective smile take its place.

"Lets go and give Poppy the good news that I won't be pestering her for much longer," he switched with self-protective ease, and Harry just bit his tongue.


	53. Mum

Poppy was pleasantly surprised to find Draco on her doorstep on time; he was usually late and armed with a charming apology. The examination was over quickly, and then the healer sent both her patients back to bed with scolds on looking after themselves properly. Neither man objected, and they did spend most of the rest of the morning actually sleeping. The lazy morning became a gently amorous afternoon, which involved some private practice for Draco. However, as time moved on, Harry's conscience twinged and his mind began to prey on thoughts of Molly, despite his lover's best efforts to distract him. So it was that as the afternoon drew to a close, wearing his Weasley jumper round his shoulders and with his hair flattened as best he could, Harry left Draco meditating and headed towards the more populated areas to try and locate Molly and Arthur.

The first person he found who could possibly tell him where to find his quarry was Ginny, who looked like she was on her way somewhere. However, as soon as she saw him from the other end of the corridor, the young woman called, "Harry," and sped up her pace. Harry met his friend half way, and before he could get a word out, she launched with a wry smile, "Thanks for leaving me to baby-sit the twins all afternoon all by myself. Everyone else including Mum and Dad were summoned to some mysterious meeting."

"Sorry," the wizard apologised to his friend, but knew he wasn't in too much trouble as he explained, "Poppy took one look at us and ordered us to get some more sleep."

Ginny laughed and wagged her finger knowingly at him as she chided, "Oh, I know what type of sleeping you two were doing. You should be ashamed of yourselves."

Harry just shrugged, shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled enigmatically at the tease. However, the ease in Ginny's manner faltered and her companion saw a thought cross her features. Somehow he knew who it was about, and he just waited as the girl told him in lower tone, "Look, Harry, Mum's quite upset about the whole Draco thing, I don't think she knows how to handle it. I think you need to talk to her faster than you did Ron, his skin's a lot thicker."

It wasn't worth an explanation of his intent, so Harry just nodded his agreement and went with the flow as he asked, "Where can I find her, do they have a couple's room?"

At that, Ginny shook her head vigorously, and grudgingly told him, "No, they have family quarters. Minerva and Mum ganged up on me and said I needed company, so I'm moving in with them."

"Good," came out of Harry's mouth before he had really thought about it: the single women's barracks was no place for his emotionally vulnerable friend.

Ginny frowned at him, but he patted her arm and told her honestly, "They're right."

"I'm a grown woman, I can take care of myself," came the protest.

"But you don't _have_ to," Harry countered, and saw the uncertainty appear in his companion's eyes; now wasn't the time for too much seriousness though, so he changed tack with a grin and added, "Anyway, why complain, this way you get your own room."

"I hadn't thought about it like that," Ginny brightened considerably.

"So, where are these quarters?"

"Two down from Big Brother, I think I'm going to be a convenient babysitter," the young woman rolled her eyes.

"Well, Draco and I'll be the inconvenient ones then," Harry promised, remembering his partner's play that morning with fondness. "It's not as if we have anything better to do."

"Oh I can see Mum going for that, she'll be checking up on you every five minutes," the young woman pouted: "She doesn't even want Draco anywhere near you, let alone her grandchildren."

"I hope to rectify that situation," Harry shrugged again, and with a wrinkle of his brow admitted, "but I'm not all that sure how."

"Just talk to her," Ginny advised with an experienced nod; "She's in full mother hen, my-babies-are-in-danger mode, but then after the last few weeks, I don't think we can blame her. You know what she was like even before the war started; the only person she's not worried about is herself."

"Well, here goes nothing, then," the adopted son decided it was time to get going.

The pair smiled at each other and then walked on by. However, a call of, "Harry?" made him turn around again. Ginny was eying his smarter than usual appearance, and with her arms crossed and suspicion in her face she asked, "Harry, you weren't on your way to see Mum anyway, were you?"

Harry just smiled and shrugged. Ginny laughed, shook her head and waved him on his way.

* * *

 

Harry stuck his head round the ajar door of Molly and Arthur's new apartment just as Arthur was sitting down in a very comfortable-looking rocking chair, a paper in his hand. The young man was silent as with some amazement, he took in a living room that looked like it had been there for years. A big old kitchen table and four farmhouse chairs was stood near a homely-looking kitchenette, and a sofa took up half the rest of the room. There were knickknacks everywhere, on scattered shelves and even a mantelpiece of a fire that Harry was sure could not have been real, but which was crackling nicely.

"Hello, Harry," Arthur spotted him before he spoke, and stood up from his seat again.

"Don't get up," the younger man countered the move, but not soon enough, and Arthur continued to fold his newspaper.

"I think I have an errand or two to run," Arthur smiled knowingly, coming across to his visitor. "Molly has been decorating for a few hours, she'll be pleased to have a break. Molly, Harry's here!"

There was a crash from one of the bedrooms, and husband winced for his wife, but the smile didn't slip from his face as he turned back to Harry, and told him, "She'll be out soon." Then he disappeared out of the door.

The young wizard hovered at the front door until Molly came bustling out of the back bedroom.

"Harry, Love, I didn't expect to see you so soon," she greeted, stowing her wand in her apron; her words were easy enough, but her manner showed the nerves that the crash had suggested.

Harry decided to be straightforward, and he confessed, "I think we need to talk."

Molly's expression lost the fake buoyancy, showing her trepidation instead, and she wiped her hands on her apron and asked, "Cup of tea?"

The young man nodded, managing a weak smile: he didn't want to make this difficult. She waved him to the table and he sat down in silence, trying to work out how to begin. It took only a tap of the wand to heat the water, and another minute to brew tea, but it was a long quiet for both people. His adopted parent looked as awkward as Harry was feeling when she finally sat down on the adjacent side of the table and slid a mug in front of him.

"I don't really know how to start," Harry admitted, fingering the cup nervously, but then let his lips carry on moving and the admission came out very fast, "I know you disapprove of me and Draco, and I don't know what to say to make you understand."

Molly's mouth fell open a little way and she sat staring at him silently for a while. However, her expression solidified again on a frown, but it wasn't a very big wrinkle, and her tone was firm, but even as she suggested, "How about the beginning?"

Harry wasn't quite sure what the beginning was, and his confusion prompted a slightly less comfortable and vaguely exasperated enquiry of, "For heaven's sake, Harry, why Draco Malfoy?"

At the consternation, Molly's extra son smiled and he reached out a hand to his loved-one.

"I keep asking myself that," he confessed with a shrug; "It isn't as if we're the perfect couple. I think I've decided to blame Lucius Malfoy for being a bastard of a matchmaker."

His companion showed her shock and displeasure at his directness in a deeper frown, but her fingers took hold of his very firmly.

"Don't be flippant," Molly chided, ruffling in her seat.

"It's the truth," Harry straightened, not feeling very flippant anyway. "If it hadn't been for what he did to both of us, we'd never have even spoken, let alone found enough common ground to...to," he looked away as he failed to find the right words to sum up the week of reprieve Draco had supplied. Molly sat silent, and Harry knew he was being watched. He didn't want to make the next move, but from her stillness, Harry knew his loved-one wasn't going to; he'd started this, and so he endeavoured to carry on in the most direct way possible; looking up, the young man told Molly openly, "I'm in love with Draco."

The woman showed instantly that a nasty taste had entered her mouth, and she tensed. However, Harry was glad when no outright condemnation came at him. Instead, Molly asked, "Is he in love with you."

"He doesn't know."

"What kind of answer is that?" she snapped, ruffling some more in defence of her young one.

Harry let go of his tea altogether and covered the fingers holding his in his other palm as well. He rubbed the back of the rigid hand, and countered with a lack of defensiveness that surprised him, "An honest one." Molly blinked at him, kept silent by the sad smile that he let back onto his features. Harry explained, "Draco has hidden behind indifference for years, the fact that I made him care at all was a big shock to him. He's just been given the chance to live again, and he's dealing with so much that I'm ready to wait until he decides what he's feeling."

"And what if he decides this has all been some ghastly mistake?" the woman let slip more of her own opinion than Draco's.

"Whatever happens, neither of us will ever think that," Harry did put an edge in his voice as he defended the relationship this time. "Molly, I _am_ bisexual, that won't change now I've admitted it to myself."

The taste got nastier, and Molly's eyes wandered round the table. She looked like she was about to cry.

"Don't be upset, please," he urged, feeling very young and very selfish as he saw his life-choice hurting the woman he loved. All the justifications he'd been thinking over evaporated in the face of Molly's pain, and, guilty, he declared, "I'm sorry if I've disappointed you."

"Don't be silly," came instantly back at him, but the assurance didn't ring true, and two guilty people sat looking at each other for a long moment; Molly, this time, picked up the tatters of conversation and her shoulders relaxed, as tentatively, she asked, "When did you, did you...decide that you were...?"

"Bisexual?" Harry finished for her, and the woman nodded stiffly. "A moment before I kissed Draco for the first time."

Molly's jaw went slack again, and Harry could see the condemnation of his rashness at the back of the expression. His thoughts tumbled on, and he let them out of his mouth haltingly, "I'd never considered it before. To be honest, I'd never thought much about sex before either. My relationships just seemed to happen, and I didn't put that much effort into them. But then, at Hogwarts -- not knowing if I was going to live to see the next day made the little things more important. It was also weirdly liberating as well; I didn't have to consider everything like I was The Boy Who Lived anymore. I was just Harry and I did everything I could to hang on to that. Am I making any sense?" he asked as the explanation sounded garbled to him.

Molly's lips were white and thin, but this time because she was biting them to hold back tears. Harry didn't know what to do; in fact, he suspected that even moving would have made his loved-one burst into tears, so he just sat very still and waited. However, Molly was building up her own emotions without his intervention, and they burst very suddenly. Harry started as his substitute mother threw herself out of her seat, leant over the table and dragged him into a tight hug.

"Oh Love, I've been so worried about you," Molly sobbed and seemed to be trying to strangle Harry.

Overwhelmed by the sudden display of affection, the young man took a moment to respond; then he wrapped his arms around the shaking frame and managed in a rush, "I'm alright, Mum."

Molly hiccupped and Harry realised what he had said: his heart leapt into his throat as he realised he had spoken out loud what had been unspoken between them for so long; he'd always held on to that simple form of address before, keeping it in his mind rather than in his words, and he had no idea how his loved-one was going to react. The response was as overpowering as the woman's sorrow had been a moment before, but this time, Molly's tears were hysterically joyful as she smothered her surrogate son in kisses. Harry just sat still and took the onslaught, dazed by the unconditional love that was running through and around him, and unsure what it meant to the reason he was sat there in the first place.

Dumbly he waited for the affection to mute, holding on to his matriarch until she wanted to sit back. When she did, Harry still just watched for a while as she returned to her seat and dabbed her eyes with her apron. Molly smiled at him, looking like she still had floods of tears waiting to flow.

"I really am alright," he lamely tried to head off any further deluge.

"You, Harry My Boy, would say you were alright even if you had been hexed six ways from Sunday if you thought it would stop others worrying about you," Molly chided, but she was still smiling as she leaned over again with less fervour to straighten the hair she had messed up, "but those of us who love you won't ever stop."

The fuss didn't last long, just Molly's way of acknowledging Harry as her own, and he accepted his role with a little lighter heart. However, there was the matter of Draco Malfoy, and Harry needed to carry on.

"Molly, Mum," he stumbled, unsure whether now he had used the form of address once he could use it again.

"Whatever you feel more comfortable with, Darling," Molly had composed herself once more, and offered her confidence to Harry. However, her smile grew a little wider, and her eyes glistened as he settled for, "Mum," his own being warming to the public admission of his feelings. "Draco isn't a threat to me:" her expression faltered, but Harry pressed on before it could become a frown, "and I won't try to stop loving him. I found out how much he means to me when I nearly lost him: it was like part of me was being ripped away. I know he's a Malfoy, I know what he was like, but he's been through so much, and it's changed him. Please just give him a chance."

Molly didn't reply immediately, which Harry took as hopeful, since it was the only clue he was given: her expression remained in between as she considered his words. She picked up her tea and took a sip; Harry held his breath, not daring to guess which way she was going to go. In the end, her look was noncommittal, but her words offered Harry hope of resolution as she requested, "Tell me about this young man of yours, then."

Harry didn't dare smile, he wasn't out of the woods yet, but he did relax and take an interest in his tea as well. Taking a gulp, and then pausing for a deep breath, the son searched for words to explain the new Draco Malfoy to his parent.

* * *

A lot of talking and some watching and taste-testing of Molly's homemaker instinct coming out full force in the urge to bake later, Harry was a lot happier about his matriarch's opinion of his lover. Madame Weasley Snr was going to take some more convincing before she was any more than civil to Draco Malfoy, and her trust was going to be something he earned, but by the time Harry left (with half a tin of biscuits under one arm and a goodbye hug that could have smothered an elephant), he was content that 'Mum' wasn't fretting any more, well no more than usual anyway.

The young man had a little difficulty getting out of the door, since Molly was reluctant to let him go; they'd both come to the end of what they had to say, and Molly had noted that Arthur and Ginny would be wanting their tea soon, which had led to an offer of supper, but Harry had refused, saying that Draco would be waiting. That's when Molly had wrapped him in the hug, still showing that she was a little insecure about 'the whole Draco Malfoy thing', but she'd been smiling when she let him go. After that, he'd made it to the corridor, but he'd made the mistake of turning to say one more goodbye, and been enveloped again. Harry didn't normally get embarrassed by public affection, but in a new part of Tutus, where he knew very few of the faces who were going about their business, and where children thought it was quite funny to see a grown man being mothered, he felt just an inkling of mortification. Still, he took the hug, and the kisses, and the straightening of his hair with a tolerant smile as along with the embarrassment came that warm, fuzzy feeling of being loved.

"Mum, I'm only going across the base," he chided lightly as Molly fussed; he liked how that sounded, he'd heard Ron use the same kind of tone before and the fuzziness spread. As he was given a reproving look for having complained, he grinned, grabbed the shorter woman with his non-biscuit-carrying arm, wrapped her in his own hug and planted a kiss on her forehead. "See you tomorrow."

"Bye, Love," Molly took the hint and stepped back inside her domain as he surrogate son watched.

Harry waited until the door was back in the ajar position in which he had found it what seemed like days ago (he suspected it would never actually be closed, let alone locked), and then he headed back the way he had come. That meant passing another Weasley door, and as he did so, it was pulled open; Harry came to a halt as he found himself being grinned at by Arthur, Ginny and Ron.

"You got Mum to start baking already!" Ron seemed rather proud of that fact as he eyed the tin and drew in a long breath of the scents with which his mother's industry had filled the family quarters.

"That may have been because of the 'Mum' thing, Dufus," Ginny bantered, digging her brother in the ribs as she beamed at Harry and observed, "It's about time for that as well; maybe we should have stuck you in a cell before, it seems to have done wonders for your repression."

"So you keep saying," Harry tried to sound offended, but only managed amused.

"Glad to have you in the family, at last," Arthur nodded, and patted Harry's arm, taking the epithetic gain of a son with his usual ease.

"Been a long time coming, Mate," Ron agreed.

"Thanks," Harry said to them all, wondering, as he surveyed the open, happy faces, why he hadn't made the step sooner.

"And the Draco thing?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"Getting there," the young man shrugged. "I don't think Mum," that drew a wider smile from all concerned, "is going to break any records when it comes to making friends, but she's not upset about us anymore."

"Good," Arthur looked more than a little relieved, "I was beginning to worry she'd fret herself silly."

"Oh, Mum'll do that anyway," Ron rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "You wait, tomorrow she'll be anxious over the fact that Crookshanks has disappeared, when we all know that he's just getting to know the building."

Harry laughed as he was meant to, but knew his best friend was right. Molly had already revealed her great capacity for worrying, even about independent cats when she had informed Harry during their long conversation, that Crookshanks had in fact travelled from the Burrow, along with the owls, who were safely where they should have been in the owlery, but had gone walkabout from his supposedly secure basket before the humans had even retrieved their possessions from where they'd been left in arrivals. Although this was not unusual for Crookshanks (he didn't like baskets), Molly had begun to think on his whereabouts.

"I'll keep my eye out for him on my way back anyway, then she won't be able to fret," Harry decided firmly, wanting to stop as many concerns as he could now he had successfully met one.

"Hey, Ginny's the creep in our family," Ron countered, and received a slap from his sister.

"I think I better go before I start a fight," Harry laughed again, and started to move off; with a wave he finished, "Bye."

* * *

Crookshanks was a wilier cat than even Hermione gave him credit for. His Kneazle blood gave him intelligence, but as Harry walked up to his door and found the large ginger tom sitting outside, apparently waiting for him, he suspected that Crookshanks was just like a lot of things in his life, a mould breaker.

"Hello," he greeted, and the cat stood up, tail vertical, eyes saying he was interested in something; as he'd got closer to their room, Harry's gut had begun to tell him that Draco was performing magic, and by the way Crookshanks turned to the door and actually meowed, made the host wonder if it was his lover in whom the animal had an interest.

When Harry actually opened the door, that idea was confirmed beyond doubt. Draco was sat in the middle of the bed, his grey eyes locked on a space between his out-stretched hands where resided a gentle glow. Crookshanks took a run at the bed, leapt over the end and then lifted himself up onto his back legs and batted at the visible magic like it was a ball on a piece of string. Draco swore and dropped his hands as his focusing practice was brought to an abrupt end. His cat toy gone, Crookshanks sat down and stared up at Draco, the end of his tail twitching: Harry thought that if Draco had had a tail, it would have been swishing quite violently.

"Potter, what is this doing here?" the interrupted wizard demanded, still glaring intently at the cat.

"You remember Crookshanks, Hermione's cat? He tried to eat Pansy's bat in the sixth year," Harry reminded him.

"I know its name," Draco broke the stare and glowered at his lover instead. "It gave me enough scratches when I went to stop it not to forget it. That does not explain what it is doing here?"

Harry sniggered as Crookshanks took the opportunity of no longer being looked at to climb into Draco's lap and rub his head against his towelling-covered ribs. The look of disgust on Malfoy's face was a picture.

"I think he likes you," he observed unhelpfully, as the personal experience of the animal's long claws clearly warred with Draco's wish to remove him.

"I don't remember it ever being this friendly," Draco growled, grudgingly lifting his arm as the cat's head nuzzled underneath it and round his body.

"He's a he, not an it," Harry corrected, and, leaning on the central end bed post, just watched, interested to see how the cat's instincts judged his boyfriend, as he added, "He wouldn't have liked you at school, he's a good judge of character and you were a scheming, back-stabbing bastard back then."

"So I'm not anymore?" Draco narrowed his eyes at the back-handed compliment.

"Crookshanks doesn't seem to think so, but he doesn't know you as well as I do," Harry teased, unmoved by the distaste on Draco's face as the cat stepped off his lap and began moving round his back, rubbing the length of his body wherever he went.

Draco didn't rise to the bait, in fact, as he warily let Crookshanks get on with whatever he wanted to, his opinion of the animal's affections seemed to be changing. His face was a picture as he seemed torn between the new status that the getting-to-know-you moves seemed to suggest, and the fact that he was being covered in ginger fur.

"I don't do cute, furry animals," Draco protested, and Harry wasn't sure if he was talking to him or the cat.

"Crookshanks doesn't do cute, either. Be careful, you might offend him," Harry really was feeling most unhelpful.

"Good," Draco objected, "Go away, Cat!" However, he lifted his other arm as his new friend shoved his head underneath it and then strolled back onto his lap. "What's so funny?" he asked the smirk on Harry's face, as, unhindered, Crookshanks turned around a couple of times and then curled up on Draco's legs.

"You really are honoured," Harry cajoled the minor squall on his partner's face; "he usually just ignores the rest of us, or disapproves."

Draco looked down at the tom, a look of consternated defeat crossed his face, and then he clearly decided to ignore the animal, because he relaxed, and turned his attention back to his boyfriend.

"So, how did it go?" he asked.

"Well, you're not Mr popular yet," Harry shrugged, "but I managed to convince Mum that you weren't enemy number one, either."

"Mum?" Draco showed his surprise.

"Something Molly and I have been working up to for a long time," the young man replied, grinning stupidly as the fuzzy feeling grew again.

His lover smiled back at him, but didn't say anything.

"No-one can resist an adoption by the Weasley family," Harry caught his laugh before the joy got the better of him, and it became more than a chuckle; he held the tin out to his partner and said, "Look, it's already begun; Mum baked and she sent enough for two."

Draco opened the box, looked inside and then observed dryly, "There's enough for six in here."

"Oh no, we're talking Molly-portions; you've seen the way Ron eats."

It took only a moment before Harry was given a waggle of the head which more or less said his logic was correct. Then Draco helped himself to a biscuit, passed the tin back and took a bite. It was normally during sex that Harry saw the look of bliss on his lover's face, but he decided that Molly Weasley's baking probably did deserve some kind of ecstatic response.

"Good, isn't she?"

Draco nodded, and before taking another bite, replied, "My mother's opinion on baking, on the whole domestic thing actually, is that that is what house elves are for."

Harry was rather surprised at the ease with which that comment came out; a tinge of jealousy, but not the hurt that usually accompanied mentions of Narcissa. He took a biscuit for himself, closed the tin, put it on the side and then sat down next to Draco. Crookshanks disdained him with a one-eyed stare as the bed moved: Draco placated the animal with a scratch behind his ear.

"I'm glad for you," his boyfriend told Harry genuinely.

The crumbs on Draco's lips were too much of a temptation to Harry in his current exuberance, and he leant forward. His first taste of the rich butter and sugar in Molly's creations was as he flicked his tongue over his lover's mouth. The residual taste grew stronger as the couple kissed properly, and Harry decided that the two sorts of heaven mixed very nicely.

Crookshanks meowed loudly at being nearly squashed, but didn't show any signs of moving.


	54. From the Mouth of Drunks

Looking after the twins could very well have been a full time occupation for the three 'outcasts' as Draco had affectionately labelled himself, Harry and Ginny: Draco had an affinity with the toddlers, probably, Ginny had suggested, because his self control was about at their level, and their snowman did indeed let them get away with things, and produced sweets on demand. It was therefore a very good thing that, although being heavily involved in whatever plans were afoot, Hermione made sure she had her 'mother time' with her little ones. Along with Grandma's help, this meant that Ginny was not quite so put upon as she had feared, and Aithne and Imogen avoided cavities and stomach ache.

The trio had been meant to be baby-sitting while everyone was at one of their meetings, but had been shooed away after the surprise arrival of Molly just as Aithne had been sick from a mixture of chocolate frog and piggy-back ride. The only one sad to see them go was Crookshanks, who gave them, or rather, Draco, his new best friend, a meow goodbye before Molly, dealing with one sister crying because she'd been sick, and the other sister crying because her twin was crying, had thrown them out. Ginny had invited them in to Weasley Estates number two, but Harry had pointed out that it was probably best if they made themselves scarce; so it was that the three of them were heading to the Mess to catch up on the day's gossip, which took them past the pub.

Not many people frequented the pub during the day, just a few hardened drinkers and anyone drowning their sorrows. Harry cursed his luck and brought their party to a halt as someone, whom he'd hoped to avoid for the rest of his stay at Tutus, came stumbling out of the smoky bar. Richard Llewellyn looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days, and the red-rimmed, grey-skinned eyes made it obvious he hadn't been sleeping. He was also three sheets to the wind. However, this didn't stop him recognising his arch enemy, and, with a sinking feeling, Harry wondered what the rules were for handling a drunk opponent.

"Potter!" Llewellyn slurred loudly, his finger, but not his wand pointing accusingly at the source of sudden ire. "Potter, I knew you were a stinking coward."

If his enemy had been able to do anymore than keep himself upright, Harry might have drawn his wand, but, the young man just settled for a warning of, "Llewellyn, you're drunk, leave us alone."

"You bastard, you must know what you're doing," the irate man accused, and there was pain on his face which held Harry still as he was approached.

The Welshman staggered up to Harry, wagging his finger. Then he grabbed for his shirt. Draco intercepted the attack, shoving Llewellyn away towards the wall. He didn't try to tackle again, in fact, the fight went right out of Richard Llewellyn, and he sunk down the wall with a howl, "My Jenny's in Azkaban!"

The agony of the sound stopped the trio from moving on; they looked at each other, unsure what to do about the wreck who began to cry right there in front of them.

"What are you wittering about?" Draco became the terse spokesman, but he crouched down to the crumpled heap.

"My Jenny," the man sobbed and held out a photo; no-one got a very good look at it, but Harry made out the outline of a woman standing next to Llewellyn before he whipped the precious item away and held it to his chest. "One of the people you cowards have sentenced to death."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked this time, alarmed by the accusation.

"She didn't even do anything wrong!" Richard yelled, and then bawled, "She helped him, that Auror, in the street, got him to his feet. But he was on the run, and so they locked her up and killed him. Now she's going to die for helping someone because of you bastards."

"What do you mean?" Harry pressed, but Llewellyn became a snivelling ball, uninterested in his nemesis.

However, the yelling had attracted attention from inside the pub. The barman and several drinkers came bundling out of their refuge, and their looks towards Draco and Harry were not friendly. The burly little man pushed Draco out of the way and bent the short distance to help his very good customer.

"Do you know what he's talking about?" Ginny asked.

"Yer don't know?" the barkeep looked at Harry and Draco as if they were pond life, before preferring their companion's worried attention; they all shook their heads.

"Would we ask if we knew?" Draco prompted.

The second look suggested that maybe they were stupid as well as pond life, but, as he hauled Llewellyn to his feet, the man told them, "Come through two days ago, You-Know-Who's demands; he wants yer back, both of yer, or else he's gonna execute all them prisoners in Azkaban."

Harry chest started to hammer out of control as implications hit him. It had been only four days since Draco's freedom had been granted, and a host of longer than usual silences and half-hidden looks from his friends over the last two days began to make more sense than mere Resistance secrecy; the young man instantly resented the fact that they must have all known and kept silent.

"What did they think we'd do if we knew?!" he asked, angrily incredulous that something so important had been kept from them.

"Something rash, like giving ourselves up," Draco returned, and Harry could see in his eyes that it was not a hypothetical suggestion.

"Why would they think we'd do a thing like that?!" he growled back, the weight of all those lives descending firmly onto his shoulders.

The two men looked at each other, and it was clear the decision had been made. Thousands of lives for two: no contest. A bright red flash was the first Harry knew that someone else disagreed with their point of view; it hit Draco in the back, and he crumpled without even a sound. Harry looked past where his partner had been standing, and saw Ginny with her wand drawn.

"Sorry, Harry," she showed her regret, but then quickly cast another stunner, at him this time; he was so surprised by the attack from his friend, that Harry didn't even reach for his wand: he also went down in bewildered silence.

* * *

Silence and confusion may have been the way Harry had entered oblivion, but he came out of it fighting the betrayal: with a growl learnt under the extremes of torture, he sat up; he would have gone for the first dark shape his spinning vision saw, but hands took hold of him and a voice told him, "Easy, Harry."

The awakener tensed, but stopped himself from hitting out at the person he eventually recognised as Remus. As his senses came back, Harry realised he was sat on one of Poppy's beds, Remus beside him and an array of bodies between him and the door. The room was crowded, and Harry's sense of hostility grew as he realised that every single person had their wands drawn and ready to use. Moody, Tonks, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Minerva, Poppy, Arthur, Severus, Dean, Amelia, Seamus, Malcolm and Albus were all stood still, but alert. Harry glared at their concerned faces: he didn't want their sympathy, and he glowered all the more at Ginny for her treachery. The young woman looked guiltily back, but he showed no mercy as his anger at what she had done mixed with his anger at Voldemort's demands. Ginny's eyes welled with tears as she took the brunt of his silent accusation, and then suddenly it wasn't she who was the guilty one anymore; a sob came from the girl's mouth, and she fled: Harry's conscience got the better of his rage, and he rolled forward onto his knees, grabbing the end of the bed as he called, "Ginny!" But she was gone.

Still silent disquiet faced him, and hands gripped his shoulders as Remus saw the wont in his charge for following the distressed young woman. Minerva turned and headed out of the room, her final stare at Harry holding disappointment.

"Harry, sit down," Remus was left to do the cajoling, but Harry wasn't feeling much like doing anything these self-righteous idiots wanted.

"Sit down, shut up, do as you're told and let everyone else make decisions about your life," he accused to the room in general, ripping away from Remus, but settling back onto his heels as wands twitched, "is that what I'm supposed to do?"

"Yes," Dumbledore surprised Harry's wrath with the simple and authoritarian answer.

The old man's gaze was as steady as always when he became the sole target of his protégé's fury.

"You know me better than that," Harry snarled.

"Which is why you were not informed of the demands sooner," Dumbledore condescended, "we hoped to avoid such hysterics."

Harry wasn't sure if he was being deliberately goaded or whether his mentor was just being direct; he didn't really care. He knelt forward again, and wands were lifted this time, but Albus didn't move as Harry leant over the end of the bed and came within a foot of the senior wizard.

"I don't call two lives for thousands, hysterics," he growled straight into the calm visage.

"Consider more deeply what action you would have been taking, Harry," Albus advised, and his serene gaze made his mentee falter in his rage; the wise man paused and let his suggestion sink in, watching the effect as Harry let sensible thought accompany his wrath; then he spoke again, "For what would you consider Voldemort has been waiting before he moves against the Muggles?"

That thought had not occurred to the young man who had seen in his mind's eye thousands in peril due to two fugitives. He went cold as he remembered his own predictions to Hippus and then associated his lover with them. He sank back onto his heels again, no less weight on his shoulders, but faced with a stark dilemma as he glanced across at a second bed where the still unconscious figure of his partner was lying.

"Draco's body," the words were dragged from Harry's mouth by chilling logic, and the two horrible scenarios clashed inside his already battered conscience.

"We would not be speaking of thousands of lives then," Amelia spoke this time as Harry remained staring at the pivot of the entire future of war, "but this whole country."

"But all those people in Azkaban," Harry could not get away from the immediate threat in favour of the hypothetical one.

"Have been on our agenda for a long time," Remus patted his companion's shoulder as he sat down on the bed and drew his bewildered, conflicted attention.

"We're listening," a far from dazed voice came from the next bed, and Draco sat up.

Wands all came into play, aimed at the composed form who casually brought his legs under himself and then sat with an arm on each knee, surveying them.

"Given the fact the Ron is now wearing my bracelet's pair, I assume that the self-unlocking mechanism has been disabled, so isn't the wand forest somewhat of an overkill?" Draco addressed himself smoothly to Amelia, and gave Harry a good view of the calculating that was going on behind his eyes; Harry wondered how long he had been awake.

"A temporary precaution, I hope," the woman replied, equally as calm, but she was less diplomatic as she observed, "And with you, Mr Malfoy, I believe there is no such thing as overkill."

Draco didn't respond to that, in fact he didn't even blink as he pressed on, "So, Azkaban?"

"Is in hand," Moody hedged, and was given a withering look by both besieged young men.

"I said we were listening, I didn't say you could fob us off with platitudes," an edge sharpened Draco's words and revealed he was not quite as calm as he was pretending to be.

"You can't expect us to sit on the sidelines on this one," Harry grappled with his temper and tried to sound calm. "These are our lives you're making decisions about."

"And thousands of others," Albus countered.

"Dammit, you have to trust us sometime!" the young man exploded as his fear and frustration got the better of him anyway. "Remember what happened last time?!"

At that, Albus Dumbledore did show his shock; he clearly knew exactly what Harry meant as Sirius came to stand between them. The heartfelt admissions through which the old man had confessed his mistakes were in his face, and Harry knew they'd had an impact. Remus kept Harry in place, but he wasn't going to move anyway; he just trembled with rage, old and new and glared at his headmaster.

"You're not stable enough to be trusted," Malcolm stepped into the silence and became the source of frank opinion.

"Would you be stable if you'd just been presented with a sobbing drunk who told you that you were responsible for his wife's impending death?" Draco defended his partner quietly, but firmly. "Don't make snap judgements until you've been there."

"You're a one to be talking about snap judgements, Laddie," Moody paid back the earlier snide observation in full.

"If we had been told in less emotive surroundings, then maybe our response might have been more considered," Draco argued right back. "No-one reacts well to nasty surprises."

"Please let us help," Harry begged directly of his mentor, ignoring the cool repartee.

Albus was trying to hide the conflict in his gaze, but Harry saw it anyway. He balled his hands into tight fists, waiting for the sensible rejection that he knew he wouldn't be able to take: it had been bad enough the first time, when he had been told of the bargain that had been made with his life, but this was no bargain, it was a rock and a hard place.

"Your action today interrupted an emergency meeting to bring forward plans for the breaking out of the prisoners in Azkaban," Amelia surprised the entire company, none more so than Albus, as she spoke. "It will be rescheduled for this evening. If I have your assurances that you will not attempt any further rash behaviour, you may attend."

Affirmatives came rushing from both mouths.

"Alright," she nodded firmly, although not happily, and then instructed, "For now, I suggest that you both take some time to regain your equilibrium;" Harry knew by the caution in her face that Madame Bones wasn't just referring to the stunner. "Auror Weasley will be outside if you require anything."

Auror Weasley himself looked somewhat surprised by the news, and inadvertently revealed that his superior was thinking on her feet.

"Thank you," Draco, the diplomat answered for both himself and Harry, who was beginning to dwell on the thought of three thousand people dying because of him, rather than paying attention.

With a nod from Albus, wands were put away and people began to silently leave the room; Harry found himself staring at the bed, a hundred made-up faces of the Azkaban prisoners slipping into his head and out again, one by personal one; there were women and children in Azkaban.

When the door finally closed on the crowd, Draco observed dryly, "I think we adjourned their entire meeting into this room."

Harry glanced up at him, but he wasn't really interested in the wit; the more time he had to think about the ramifications of Voldemort's threats, the worse it was getting, and he let his guilt and concern tumble out with his words as he mourned, "All those people."

Draco slid instantly out of his seat and sat down next to his lover; his arm came up, around Harry's tense shoulders, and he soothed, "You heard Albus and Amelia, things are in hand."

"I know it's you he really wants, but maybe if I was given back it might distract him, buy us some time," the young man picked out the first idea that came into his head as his desperation threatened to get the better of him.

"No, Harry!" Draco responded vehemently.

"But we know he won't kill me, he wants me as the orb sacrifice," Harry stammered on, clutching at unhappy ideas to try and relieve the guilt, "and maybe I can get close enough to try and kill him - it's me or him in the end anyway."

"Don't say that, Harry, it doesn't have to be that way," his lover argued, his grip tightening. "Don't take all this on yourself as well."

"I didn't, the prophecy did that for me," the young wizard confessed, but the relief of finally sharing that knowledge was dwarfed by his other emotions.

"Prophecy?" Draco repeated, his face clouding.

"Yeah, y'know, the one Voldemort was after the night Lucius was arrested at the Ministry," Harry found himself smiling, but it was just another absurd gesture in the middle of his tangle of feelings. "In short, a child would be born that could bring down the Dark Lord. He would mark him," he lifted his hair away from the lightening scar for a moment, before dropping his hands to his lap. "In the end, I must die by his hand or he by mine."

His partner was looking at him with a mixture of compassion and shock, and his question came out slowly as he asked, "How long have you lived with this?"

"Albus told me the night Sirius died, only way of stopping me from going off the deep end," Harry shrugged, the feelings of that night making the mess in his spirit worse. "See, I already have one life on my hands, I don't want thousands."

Draco reacted violently to that admission, and dragged Harry fully into his arms, his grip almost painful.

"Merlin, no wonder you were so different at school the next year," he sounded angry; Harry laid his head on the offered shoulder. "You made a mistake when you were fifteen because He played games with your mind. That doesn't make you responsible for Sirius' death either, he was a grown man, he knew what he was doing. And neither of us can stop Him from being the evil bastard that he is. Saying that giving you up would help is like suggesting that me killing myself would solve the problem: Voldemort would still kill those people, and take his wrath out on several thousand more on the way. Prophecy or no prophecy, Harry, you don't have to be alone."

The words kind of made sense, but it was the emotion that Harry was listening to, and he heard the commitment in his lover's voice. That caring lessened the stampede of guilt, and allowed the young man to slow his raging fears. Slowly, as the world came back into proportion, Harry reached for his partner, closing the embrace. The couple sat in silent stillness as Harry let the noise in his head return to manageable levels, and when it had, he said thank you for the support with a gentle kiss on Draco's neck.

"We're being watched," his partner whispered as the touch lasted longer than just the thank you.

"I know," Harry paused only a moment to answer what he had seen when he had first scanned the room; the small mirror on the wall behind him was supposed to be unobtrusive, but it had told his senses, alert with fury, that this room would never be private. Yet, he didn't care.

[Let them watch,] he decided; if they wanted to play puppet master with his life, then to hell with them, they could know and see everything. Draco relaxed at the reply, and apparently made a very similar decision, since, when Harry flicked his tongue at the inviting white flesh, his lover let out a low murmur of pleasure and gave him better access.

* * *

Despite his initial bravado, Harry's inhibitions came into play; the couple satisfied themselves with some gentle petting and Draco settled them into a loose hug once his partner was relaxed in his arms. Harry left the world to itself and concentrated on the even rhythm of his companion's breathing. He drifted in the comfort of the closeness for a while, and welcomed Draco's presence when his magic touched both his instincts and his body. It was only a small brush of dreamweaver mist, much of it held back by the enhanced constraint that was on his wrist, but Harry's psyche was tired and he accepted Draco's gift and slipped into a light doze. He allowed himself to be laid down, and curled over onto his side, away from prying eyes on the wall. As Draco stroked his hair, his battered ego drifted a little further into sleep, and then nothing mattered anymore.

Harry didn't think he slept for long, it was only a retreat from his feelings, and when it ended, he opened his eyes to see his beautiful man meditating; for a while he lay still, replacing the sleep's thrall with the equally powerful draw of Draco's relaxed features, but even his lover's Adonis countenance could not keep the world away for ever, and eventually, Harry sat up. Almost instantly, Draco's eyes opened, and his smooth brow was interrupted by concern.

"Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you," Harry met his silent worry with a smile he hoped would reassure.

"Feeling better?" Draco accepted the positive sign with a cock of his head as his eyes examined a stretch that Harry was making.

"Yes, thank you," the young man slipped off his own bed and leant over to kiss his lover's forehead; Draco was still watching him as he stood back, a look on his face that Harry knew was waiting for more information: he obliged, "A lot less like wanting to walk into the clutches of the enemy."

His partner frowned at him again, clearly unsure about Harry's sincerity. He sat down next to his lover and rubbed against the lean frame as he tried again, "I'm not considering doing anything stupidly noble in the near future. Let's hear what our puppet masters have to say first."

"A little sense at last," Draco showed his relief in the tease. "I was beginning to wonder if Gryffindor folly was going to get the better of that Slytherin alter-ego I've been cultivating in you."

Harry chuckled, but not for long; he was restless now the overwhelming emotions had settled, and he glanced around the room, asking without much hope of a negative answer, "Do you think we're going to be in here all day?"

"Undoubtedly," Draco replied, wrinkling his nose, "they're not going to risk letting us wander off until they've put their case."

"How about something to do, then?" Harry got up and stalked over to the disguised viewing window, and then threatened, "Or you might get more to watch than you bargained for."

The response was not immediate, and both Draco and Harry had made a few more unsubtle requests, including an overt suggestion that the bathroom might be a more private location in which to find some recreation, by the time there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Draco called, and smiled with all the sincerity of the Cheshire cat as Hermione entered.

"Since Bones shows no signs of letting you two out, thought you might like some distractions," the young woman announced with a roll of her eyes at the mirror which made it clear that someone was desperately trying not to confirm that they were under surveillance.

"How thoughtful," Draco played along like he was a very bad actor; Harry just glared at the window, showing that he didn't approve of deceit.

Hermione slipped a bag off her shoulder and dumped it on the end of the nearest bed, which happened to be Harry's.

"Chess, cards and some books," she disclosed, drawing the items out in turn.

"Thank you," Draco sounded more genuine this time, and their female friend smiled at the gratitude.

"Thanks," Harry added as his manners got the better of his snit.

"Can you stay for a quick game of chess?" Draco asked hopefully. "Harry's no contest."

The slight would have generated a bluster of objection, but Hermione suddenly looked awkward, so Harry kept quiet as she shook her head and apologised, "Sorry, I have to be elsewhere."

"Do they think we're going to corrupt you?" Harry did let out the snark that leapt to mind as his temper let him know he was not quite as calm as he would have liked.

"Sorry, Harry," his friend offered, her gaze saying she was upset by the outburst, but, unlike its originator, she maintained her own poise. "I can't."

The old companions just looked at each other a moment; Hermione was biting her tongue and struggling to follow orders, and it was her struggle that first perplexed Harry and then dragged out an apologetic look.

"See you later," he dismissed flatly.

"Bye," Hermione finished, and then made a tactical withdrawal.

The door closed and Harry let out his frustration again as he threw himself back onto his bed and complained, "This is farcical."

"Yes," Draco agreed, much less petulant than his lover and cajoled, "but at least they didn't separate us."

"They know what happened last time," the young man growled, but was given a rather lustful grin from his partner rather than any kind of backup. He chided, "That was not supposed to be a personal pornographic moment."

"Spoilsport," Draco pouted at him, and it was Harry's brain's turn to go places that could only be shared in intimate company.

"So what shall we play?" he decided that playful lust machine was better than snitty prisoner, sat up and toyed with their watchers as he suggested, "Strip poker?"

"Kiss canasta?" Draco caught on fast.

"I don't know the rules to that one," Harry drooled, his passion stirring despite his knowledge of the game.

"I'll teach you," his lover reached and slid his hand behind Harry's neck; his look was intense enough for Harry to wonder if they were playing anymore, but he didn't care and accepted the consequences of his tease with damp lips and a dancing tongue.

In the end, the couple relented and, having found that Hermione had left them with two types of card decks, settled for a very loud, very childish and frustration destroying game of exploding snap.


	55. Plans of Attack

Harry had become accustomed to his freedom, and by the time evening came round, he had, despite numerous diversion attempts, begun to pace. Draco was doing his own kind of thinking, having returned to meditation, but both young men were alert and watching the door as soon as the handle began to turn without Poppy's customary knock. The reason for the lack of courtesy, it became apparent, was because the entrant was opening the door with his elbow, and his arms were holding two pairs of shoes, and one hand was clutching what, with a squint, Harry hoped was his glasses (he'd been managing without them, but he had been wondering why they'd been confiscated).

"Hello, Lads," Arthur Weasley greeted brightly. "All ready for the off?"

The prisoners were on their feet before he'd finished the sentence, and he grinned at them both and observed, "I see you are. Well, here are your things. Sorry about the glasses, Harry; you broke them on the way down after Ginny's little improvisation, and what with all the chaos, we forgot to mend them."

So that was it. However, as he put them on, and then reached for his shoes, Harry noted that one thing had not been returned to him, his wand; there was no sign that Draco's bracelet was going to be returned to his control, either. The lack of trust niggled, but it was nothing to which the young man was not becoming accustomed, and his temper had had plenty of time to settle enough for him to keep silent on that point. He was not going to risk the invitation to the meeting being withdrawn because of petulance. Draco was being diplomatic, his normal response to awkward situations.

Arthur watched silently, his smile never slipping, as they made themselves ready for the outside world once more, and once both younger men were stood in front of him again, he encouraged, "Come on then, time we were about our business."

It was clear to Harry why Arthur had been the one to come and get them: the man was too inoffensive to snark at, and Harry thought he'd probably just have smiled at any rough words anyway; he also had an air about him of not knowing anything, despite probably being deeply involved in everything, and Harry had no urge to question him. He glanced at his lover once as Arthur turned and they prepared to follow him, and Draco was, for once, blatantly honest about his emotions, as he showed Harry that the revelations of the day were still having an effect on him as well. Silently, the pair followed out their guide.

Harry bit his tongue again as, outside in the corridor, it became apparent that Madame Bones and Albus were still jumpy about the impulsive behaviour of that morning, because Tonks, Remus and Ron were waiting for them.

"Ah isn't that nice, Harry, company on our little walk?" Draco surprised Harry as his cynicism came out; he was smiling, but it wasn't a pleasant gesture.

"Should be sorted out soon," Tonks chivvied the mood along with a supportive smile.

"As long as we roll over and do as we're told," Harry kicked himself as his disquiet ran ahead of his caution once more, and the Auror's face straightened.

"Come on," Remus took charge and waved everyone ahead of him down the corridor.

Tonks and Ron fell in ahead of their prisoners, and Arthur and Remus took up the rear. Harry and Draco went quiet again and just got in line.

* * *

The journey was short, but still long enough for the silence to be getting to Harry; being surrounded by cautious friends once more did not feel right, not after jumping through so many hoops already, and the injustice made him moody. His face must have shown it when he walked into the large classroom that was housing the meeting, because faces fell as soon as he met any gazes, and none rested on him for long. The number of people in the room showed that not quite the entire meeting had been in the observation room, but it had been close; as well as the 'wand forest', a few extra resistance faces Harry did not recognise, plus a couple he did, were finding seats at desks while Albus and Amelia took up their places at the front.

Harry and Draco were escorted to a couple of first row desks and their escorts took up seats two either side and two in the row behind; it all felt very uncomfortable, and Harry shifted in his chair, aware that there were more than just a couple of eyes on his back. Draco had put on his mask of separateness again as soon as they had entered the room, and Harry mourned his inability to slip into a similar coolness; his nerves were still raw, and no matter what was said, he was desperate to be part of whatever plans were afoot -- that was bound to be showing all over his face, but he couldn't hide it, so he just focused on Dumbledore and hoped honesty would convince the decision makers of his sincerity.

Madame Bones and Professor Dumbledore were stood behind the teacher's desk, and one look from the superiors brought the entire room to silence. Albus surveyed the quiet for a moment, meeting every eye as he did so; Harry didn't know what he was seeing when he paused on him, and the look gave no inkling as to the ancient wizard's opinion on his protégé. Once the gaze was gone, Harry shifted in his seat again, keenly aware that Amelia was also watching him, and he was rather relieved when the talking began.

"My friends," Albus began smoothly, "thank you all for allowing us to reconvene this meeting to encompass this morning's developments."

The words were gentle, but Harry's neck prickled as he felt a hundred accusing glares on his back; he wasn't sure if they were real, and glanced at Draco to see if his mind was playing similar games, but his partner was centred on the speaker, and gave no suggestion that the guarded beginning had made any impact on his at all. He reluctantly turned back to his mentor, and received a level attention which fixed him to his seat as Dumbledore continued, "For the benefit of those who have not been party to our discussions thus far, I shall return to the facts with which we are dealing. Two days ago, the Daily Prophet published two articles on its front page. The first, a highly unusual admission of failure;" Amelia waved her wand and an enlarge report from the Prophet drifted upwards off the table for all to see. Harry's mouth fell open as he read the headline, 'Dark Prince -- Potter Custody'. Voldemort had admitted he had lost Draco, it made no sense, and his confusion showed on his face.

"Yes, Harry, not a move any of us expected," Albus addressed him directly. "The article suggests that you have kidnapped Draco and he is under Imperius. A strange publication when one must consider that Voldemort should be almost certain that you are both under Resistance protection. However, when taken in conjunction with the second article, a message is clearly being sent."

'Azkaban Prisoners -- Thousands May Die', read the second headline which floated up next to its pair, and Harry dug his fingers into the palms of his hands.

"Superfluously, the report tells of a mysterious illness which has been discovered in Azkaban; a fatal illness which targets only first generation wizards and witches, suggesting that their Muggle blood is unable to fend off this magical infection. This plague has a gestation period of two weeks. Our people watching Azkaban have informed us that no such illness exists."

"The Dark Prince and Harry Potter must be in custody within two weeks or the Azkaban prisoners will die," Draco translated, his tone cold as ice.

"Precisely," Albus nodded, and his expression was grave. "Further sources have confirmed that this is the message we were supposed to receive."

"We have no intention of doing anything as inhuman and foolish as handing you both over," Amelia stepped into the dialogue, making her position as clear as always. "But we do not intend for the prisoners in Azkaban to die either. We have been working on a plan to release the prisoners for some time now. This news has forced an escalation in our plans, but we already have some irons in the fire. The network by which we shall transport the prisoners from the Azkaban island is almost complete, and a place of temporary safety is already waiting. However, our biggest obstacle at the moment is intelligence on the regime and workings within the prison itself. Our only lead so far, has proved difficult to cultivate."

"Garakin Phitts," Draco surprised everyone in the room, if the murmurs from behind and looks from in front were anything to go by; no-one more so than Harry, who had never heard of whomever his partner was speaking. Draco chose to explain himself directly to Harry's questioning glance, "He was abducted on his way home from the Ministry the second week you were at Hogwarts. He's currently in charge of Resistance interrogations, but until six months ago, he was heavily involved in reworking the accommodation at Azkaban because they were running out of room." Then the young man turned back to Dumbledore and Amelia and told them, "I can confirm that your choice was a good one, Lucius was convinced you'd taken him to try and discover where Resistance prisoners were being held, no connection has been made with Azkaban."

"And how do you know all this?" Moody asked suspiciously.

"Because he ranted at me about it when he returned from killing a few Death Eaters for letting it happen," Draco answered, swivelling in his seat and letting the perceptive old Auror see his face.

[He ranted at me too,] Harry thought, his blood running cold as he remembered the few days' relief which had been followed by the rage-filled revenge.

Unaware of the personal memories that had overtaken Harry, the meeting continued, as Professor Dumbledore confirmed, "You are correct, Draco, we have Garakin Phitts in order to extract his knowledge of Azkaban. I hope that your father does not make the same connections as you have done."

"Lucius has a habit of ignoring what is under his nose," Draco returned, and Harry was sure his voice became colder; Harry shivered as the look of chill hatred on his lover's profile smiled, and the ice-cold Dark Prince continued, "But Garakin Phitts, like every other Death Eater with the new, improved Dark Mark, is resistant to Veritasium, and just about any other interrogation method that your people have the stomach for."

"Exactly so, Mr Malfoy," Amelia was regarding her prisoner with something between suspicion and respect. "Our people are working on breaking the spell around the Dark Mark, but have yet been unsuccessful in doing so."

"That spell is about as dark and intricate as any in existence," Draco nodded to himself. "Have you tried deception rather than magic?"

"Phitts is not stupid," Malcolm answered with some frustration, "he knows who took him."

"He thinks he knows," Malfoy turned again, and Harry could see his mind working furiously.

"You have an idea?" Hermione showed she valued her new friend's intellect even if most of the others were looking dubious.

"How about facing him with something he couldn't have calculated for?" Draco asked the room in general.

"And what would that be?" Moody was leaning across his desk as he asked the question.

Harry watched as his lover paused, clearly working an idea through before he presented it; his face was alive with what his lover could only describe as Slytherin deviousness, something that until recently he would not have appreciated.

"How about a coup?" Silence, and some very blank faces. "Someone on Phitts' own side, still serving his Dark Lord, but dissatisfied with the current Governor General."

"You mean you," Harry spoke for the rest of the room.

"Phitts doesn't know I have left the fold, and he was never privy to the true nature of my inheritance, so he has no reason to suspect me, and every reason to be scared rigid if I'm as ruthless as the rumours say I am," Draco expanded logically. "He knows I'm a Slytherin, and pretending to be the Resistance is something I might do to disguise my hand, but feigning that he's beaten the deception might make him confident enough to 'join the team'."

There was still silence. Harry smiled at his partner, again impressed by his fast and wily thinking, but no-one else was very sure. Glances were dancing around the room as everyone looked to their compatriots for opinions on the hasty plan. Harry was still very much on edge, and the obvious distrust tipped his mouth into action and he asked exasperatedly, "Could it be any worse than where you are now?"

"Probably not," Remus agreed first, and the experienced fighter looked deliberately to his superiors for input.

Amelia did not seem comfortable with the idea, but was at least not openly objecting; Albus was regarding Draco with his brow furrowed in thought. Harry bit his tongue and waited. Eventually, Dumbledore asked, "What exactly did you have in mind, Draco?"

Harry let out the breath he had been holding and sunk into his chair.

* * *

The details of Death Eater politics was not one of Harry's strong points; he'd known it to be highly complex, but that was as far as he had liked to go. He knew nothing about Garakin Phitts, so he'd sat silent, and let those who did know the situation begin to discuss details. He just watched in awe, as, one by one, Draco won over the room with a mixture of logic and charming confidence. By the time he had finished, suggestions had become facts, and a timescale had been arranged, which had Phitts arriving at Tutus for a first meeting with Draco the next day. It was such a change from the awkward, concerned glances, that Harry's outlook had brightened considerably by the time the plan had solidified. The isolation and helplessness had begun to dissipate, and with it, the young man's temper began to settle.

The greater ease must have been in his manner, because people weren't avoiding his gaze any longer, and when he caught his friends watching him, their faces did not show the same kind of worry as when he and Draco had first entered the room; everyone that was except Hermione, who, despite her best efforts, could not hide the pain in her eyes when Harry looked at her. The Resistance members with whom he did not regularly associate had not relaxed as much as his friends, but Harry ignored their cautious glances, sure in himself that they would come round eventually. Only Malcolm was also looking at him strangely, and making occasional eye contact with Hermione. That told Harry everything he needed to know about who had been on duty on the other side of the mirror when he had spoken about the prophecy. Beyond all the rash decisions of the day, the young wizard regretted that outburst the most: Malcolm didn't matter to him, but it had changed the way one of his best friends would look at him forever. Yet he couldn't change what was done, so he did his best to ignore its consequences.

However, the consequences would not ignore him.

Amelia drew the meeting to a close once the plan of action had been decided for the next day, and people got up to leave. As Harry watched other go, he spotted a mouse who had been sitting silently out of his eye line, a mouse to whom he owed an apology. However, as Harry took a step towards Ginny's disappearing figure, he was stopped by Malcolm standing in his way. He frowned at the man, but did not have a chance to say anything, because Albus' smooth timbre requested, "Harry, Draco, may we speak with you a moment?"

It wasn't a request that had a negative answer, and, storing up his apology for later, as unease crept back up on him, Harry turned back to where Bones and Dumbledore had been joined by Hermione and Ron. Malcolm stepped around Harry and joined his colleagues, five facing two, and Harry found himself closing ranks with Draco. Three of the five were showing little emotion; Ron was fiddling with his wrist band and just looked awkward about wearing it, but Hermione looked like she was fit to burst, so Harry focused on her.

"Harry, we didn't put it in the report," she gabbled, out of turn judging by the looks from her comrades, as the knowledge became too much for the young woman.

"Thank you," he smiled at her, suddenly calm in the face of her distress.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Hermione continued, sounding hurt and sorry all at the same time.

Harry regarded his two best friends for a moment, sure that no-one else was going to butt in; Ron was looking confused, and worried about his wife; Hermione had run out of words.

"I didn't want anyone to know," he answered honestly, still smiling his sadness, but strangely warm now one of the barriers in his life was out in the open. "Merlin, I didn't even want to know!"

"Didn't want to know what, Mate?" Ron's curiosity finally got the better of him.

"That prophecy that got broken in the Ministry of Mysteries the night Sirius died," Harry explained to him slowly, and was glad for the support as Draco slid an arm around his waist. "There was a copy. Albus showed it to me that night." The pain was in the old man's eyes as Ron glanced at him, but only Harry could really see it. "It told how Voldemort," Malcolm and Ron winced, "would mark the child that could bring him down, and then it said one of us had to die by the other's hand."

Ron's face showed his horror, and Draco's grip tightened as Harry faced his fate for the second time that day.

"And you didn't tell us?" his best mate was nothing if not predictable, and his repeat of Hermione's question was just the reaction Harry had been expecting.

"No-one can do anything about it, it's a prophecy," Harry shrugged, trying not to sound defensive about his solitary decision.

Ron looked at his wife, and they shared a moment of separateness from their friend, but Hermione took her husband's hand, and when they looked back to Harry, Ron's accusation had gone.

"It does, however, make you significantly more indispensable, Harry," Madame Bones got straight to the point as silence fell.

"Voldemort and I have been playing cat and mouse since I was eleven," Harry dismissed, his tone going cold as he thought about his nemesis. "The prophecy could just mean that he finally gets me, or it could mean I'm the saviour of the wizarding world. Whatever happens, I'm certainly not indispensable; there could be a hundred people out there who can beat him, and don't need a prophecy to say so."

"A prophecy does not happen by chance, Harry, such a message is never sent lightly," Albus contradicted one of the many paths of reason that Harry had meandered to try and make sense of his lonely destiny.

"Well, if I'm ever to have the chance of taking him out, I can't be wrapped in a protection charm and left on the shelf," the young wizard decided to go on the offensive.

"No, but allowing you into danger unnecessarily would also be foolhardy," Amelia advised, giving the first inkling of the kind of attitude her subordinate had been fearing since the discovery of his future; he didn't want to be set apart.

"Don't start treating me any differently from any other Auror," Harry growled his warning as he saw kid gloves in his future. "I just want to help win this war, and that means getting on with it. Worrying about some bloody prophecy could be the very reason I miss my chance."

"A very good point, Harry, but at this juncture, moot," Dumbledore interrupted any disagreement before it could begin, and soothed both parties with, "Until Phitts provides us with the information we require, all our hands are tied."

Harry backed off the aggression that could have protected him from his fears, relying instead on the calm logic of his mentor. Albus, he hoped, would be on his side when the time came.

"Now, as far as this morning is concerned," the senior wizard began with more authority in his voice, which made both Draco and Harry stand straighter, "do I have your assurances that you will not consider anything so disastrous in the future?"

"Yes," came from both mouths almost simultaneously, and Harry was almost sure he saw both Bones and Dumbledore physically relax as their word was taken.

"You do understand why such action would be counterproductive, don't you?" Amelia needed a little more confirmation.

"Emotions were running high this morning," Draco, the diplomat spoke for both of them, "higher than good sense. Information has since tempered those wand-flick reactions."

The guarded reprimand was taken by both superiors without comment, only a minor eyebrow raise from Madame Bones. Still, the woman smiled at Draco as she returned, "I hope we may put this morning behind us, and move on."

"So do we," his lover responded, with a incline of his blond crown; Harry just nodded.

Amelia then looked to her working Auror, who more than readily reached for his wrist band. Harry felt Draco soften against him as his own bracelet unclipped, and a large lurch in his instincts as his partner's power rejoined the world showed him how high the protection had to have been set. Harry took the controlling bangle as Ron returned it to him and slipped it into his pocket; there was no way he was reinstating the magic until they had re-lowered its intensity.

"Harry, once again I find myself returning your wand," Albus offered his own reproof with a smile as he withdrew the holly wood from his sleeve and passed it back to Harry; Harry ignored the scold and slipped the tool back up his sleeve with his own grin. Then Albus surprised both reinstated wizards as he turned around while telling them, "and Draco, there is something which should have been returned to you when you were released from custody, and I may only apologise for the oversight."

Draco let his partner go as Dumbledore held out the bag that Harry dimly remembered from the escape. The young man's face lit up, and made Harry curious as to what inside could have caused such a delight.

"Thank you," Draco responded earnestly, and immediately began to fish inside.

The sack-like black cloth had to have had a charm on the inside, because Draco's arm disappeared into depths that quite clearly could not be handled on the outside. What he drew out was a small, chinking purse, and without a pause, he offered it out to Dumbledore. The old man looked at the leather bag, a question on his face, and Draco told him, "It will go no way to covering the expense to which we have put Tutus, but it is all I have."

Albus' smile was wide and surprised by the payment, and he held his palms up to it and returned, "Thank you, Draco, but our funding is adequate."

"Please, take it," the younger Malfoy tried again, his tone more insistent, and his face was showing his need to make recompense. "A few Death Eater Galleons to turn against them."

At the second offer, Albus nodded graciously and took the bag. "We shall put them to good use," he promised.

Draco seemed satisfied with that, and stepped back beside Harry.

"Thank you," Amelia agreed with her fellow leader and then dismissed, "Alright then, I suggest that dinner and an early night may be in order to prepare for a long day tomorrow."

* * *

After a few polite goodbyes, the two couples left together. As soon as they had left the classroom, Hermione offered, "Do you two want some dinner?"

Instantly, both Harry and Draco shook their heads; they didn't need to confer.

"First, I have to find Ginny and apologise for making her cry," Harry spoke for them both, "and then I think we'll get that early night."

Draco nodded his agreement. Hermione still had the ghost of the prophecy revelation in her eyes, but Harry knew that it wasn't the time for discussions about it; he wasn't in fact very tired, having been cooped up all day, but he was in need of some privacy since the coop had had eyes.

"Mum's not happy about Ginny in tears," Ron warned, making a face. "In fact, she's doing her dragon impression."

"You think I'll be able get past the teeth and flames?" Harry joked.

"Well after that, there's Minerva to deal with," Hermione joined in with a laugh. "Molly may singe your ears, but she won't turn you into a frog."

"Sounds like you need to go armed," Draco observed and was given reproving stares from the others until he scoffed, "Not like that. You need the standard issue apology weapon, guaranteed to get you forgiven."

"I didn't know Slytherins knew how to apologise," Ron jibed, and received a supercilious look before Draco pointedly ignored him and continued, "To bring round mothers, aunts, sisters, amours, in fact any female," Hermione narrowed her eyes at that, but Draco was unrepentant, "and to get you through the front lines to your target: go armed with foliage."

Ron sniggered, Hermione tired to look offended while she was giggling, Harry laughed, and Draco put on an expression which said he was mortally wounded by the mirth; that was until he came to a smart halt and an epiphany crossed his face.

"In fact, I know where to get some," he announced as though he'd just begun to take himself seriously, and grabbed Harry by the arm. "Come on, Potter, we have to go and collect some things from the room before we find the target."

Harry waved to his surprised, but thankfully, amused, friends as he was summarily dragged away in the opposite direction by a man with purpose written all through his manner.

"See you tomorrow," he managed before he was hauled around the corner.

* * *

Harry watched as Draco charged around their room on a mission that involved a cup and saucer which magically lost its handle and gained some holes in the bottom of the cup, a pair of scissors and the very healthy plant that Draco had been feeding with growing magic until it had become more of a small bush. Harry liked to sit out in gardens and watch the world go by; he'd never been good at herbology, and he'd always thought that Malfoy had only applied himself, because that's what the overachiever did in every subject. However, since remembering Ilexa, the wizard had been devoted to his plant, studiously increasing the size of the pot every time it was needed and watering and removing dead foliage. This time, he spent a while examining the prolific shrub, searching for something which eluded Harry; once he found it, a careful snip took a cutting, which was reverently laid on the table while Draco filled his tea cup with earth. Draco at work was, as with most other things Draco, an easy fixation for Harry, and he was quite enrapt as his lover placed the newly hewn plant into his impromptu pot and then held out his hands. The natural magic was different from the other powers that were massed inside Draco; it felt separate, alive to Harry's instincts, and he liked it when Draco used it, because it never failed to make him horny.

His baser instincts crept up on the observer, and he was swiftly tingling all over; the reason Draco was working his talents drifted away as the small plant was not the only thing to be growing in the presence of the gentle green glow. By the time his lover turned to him and held up his creation for approval, Harry was well on the way to considering how best to get him out of his clothes as fast as possible, any thought of Ginny having been marked as 'can be done later'. Draco's instant response to a horny boyfriend was lust, Harry could see it in his face, but it lasted a mere microsecond before being replaced with a pained expression and then the comment, "Potter, I'm the one who you have to damp down, not the other way round. I can't believe I'm saying this, but apology first, sex later."

Such hard fought restraint from his lover surprised Harry, but he was more interested in the way Draco's cheeks became flushed when he was turned on, and it was easy to see the colour appearing: Harry smiled.

"No!" Draco reprimanded, advancing on Harry, plant held out in front of him. "Ginny is upset," he pushed him backwards towards the door. "Ginny is your friend," he opened the door and shoved Harry into the corridor. "You have to make this right before, before..." Draco hastily thrust the pot into Harry's hands, frustration and wont mixing on his features, and then the door slammed.

For a moment, Harry wondered if he should be annoyed at being locked out of his own room, but then his thoughts began to rearrange themselves and his passion to settle; he looked at the new life in his hands and took a moment to admire Draco's work.

* * *

Molly was cooking, of that Harry was sure by the time he stopped outside her door. Despite the availability of the Mess and a very busy schedule, the homemaker had baked or broiled or fried every night since arriving, and Harry had come to the conclusion that it was her way of making the new surroundings her own. The smell of fresh bread that had met him halfway into the family area had made him feel good, but as he paused before knocking, Harry's nerves knotted in his stomach. Ginny was upset; Molly was upset; he had done a good job of upsetting people in general today, and Harry gathered his apology thoughts before he finally rapped on the partially open door which then immediately swung in the rest of the way where his impact pushed it.

Molly was at the kitchen table, upending a very large loaf tin; Arthur was sat in his usual place by the fire; there was no sign of Ginny. Harry smiled as confidently as he could to them both and greeted, "Hello."

"Well, this is a surprise," Arthur stood up, smiling back, but Molly just put down her burden and regarded her son with disapproval.

"Is Ginny here?" he got right to the point.

"She's in her room," Arthur told him with his usual openness. "She'll be glad to see you."

Harry nodded, and then headed straight to the right door, feeling Molly's stare on his back all the way. Politely, he knocked and waited; there was no response, so he knocked again. This time a small voice told him, "Go away."

"Go in," his adoptive mother's voice urged immediately, worried and strained as she spoke, and she was wringing her apron when Harry glanced at her; feeling more confident when he saw Molly's true feelings, the young man smiled at her, and then opened the door.

Ginny was lying on her bed, her face buried in a pillow, but her head came up in shock as her instructions were ignored. Her face was tear-stained from crying old and new, and guilt piled up in Harry's chest as he took all the blame for it. Rapidly, he closed the door behind him and headed to the bed. Ginny scrabbled into a sitting position and began fiddling with her lovely red hair, which was all over the place. Harry sat down next to her and teased, "I've seen you a lot worse than this."

The young woman stopped fussing and just looked at him, so Harry answered the sadness in her eyes with, "Thank you for stopping us doing anything stupid this morning, and I'm sorry I was so horrible when I woke up."

Ginny looked a little stunned by the direct apology, and her jaw was slack as she failed to find anything to say. So Harry pressed on, "And Draco thought you might like a cutting from the plant you gave him."

The magic of foliage developed before his eyes, and Harry decided that Draco, although cynical, was most definitely correct as his friend's face lit up. She took the offered plant and held it up, delighting in the eccentric pot and playing with the leaves as she returned, "Oh, how sweet of him. Thank him for me," she smiled, but then she bit her lip as she looked straight at Harry and then told him, "I'm sorry I hexed you."

"Don't be," the young man soothed. "We didn't give you a lot of choice, and what you did probably stopped a whole bundle of worse things from happening. You kept your head when we lost ours, and it was very brave of you to take us both on."

"I wasn't brave," Ginny scoffed, but she was smiling to herself as she returned to stroking the plant.

"Whatever you want to call it, you deserve my thanks, and you have nothing to be sorry for. Do you forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive," Ginny grinned and leant against her friend for a moment: Harry knew he was out of the woods. "Can you stay for supper?"

Harry laughed as he thought about the pained expression he had left behind and how him disappearing for hours might be received when he got back; he shook his head, and explained more seriously, "Sorry, to be honest, I'm not that hungry, and after today, I just want some time alone with Draco and some sleep."

"Once she knows we've made up, Mum's going to want you to stay," the girl told him knowingly.

"I think I can get away without offending her."

In fact, Harry did get away faster than he had thought, carrying a stack of sandwiches made with still warm bread, with which Molly had presented him when he and Ginny had emerged a few minutes later.

* * *

"Crookshanks, get off those!" greeted Harry as he opened the door, and told him that they had a visitor before he saw the ginger tom being tipped off a pair of trousers by an exasperated Draco; he and the cat had love hate relationship, Crookshanks loved Draco and often showed it my covering him and all his possessions in long red hair, and Draco hated that and sometimes Crookshanks as well. The cat looked up at Draco, meowed his complaint for being moved from the spot he had chosen, and wandered across to another item of clothing that had been lain carefully on the bed. "No!" Draco objected hotly, and whipped away the other three garments which could be a target. Crookshanks hadn't quite sat down this time, so he just changed direction and walked over to one of the other items which had been strewn across the mattress, in this case, a hard-backed book, and promptly spread out across that instead. Draco glared at the animal for a moment, looking a bit like a washer woman given the garments handing from the hands he rested in his hips, but Crookshanks just smiled up at him victoriously.

"Bloody animal," Draco cursed, but didn't attempt any more extraction of items, he just turned to the chest of drawers and dumped the clothes on top a lot less neatly than they had been on the bed.

"Having fun?" Harry smirked as he closed the door.

Draco growled first, but Harry just carried on smiling, sat down on the bed next to Crookshanks and waited for something more coherent. His lover gave him a black look, but eventually sighed and explained, "I decided to sort out the things I brought out of Hogwarts, only that creature caterwauled outside the door until I let it in, and has been getting in the way ever since. There are claw holes in one pair of my leather trousers and - "

"You brought out leather trousers?" Harry interrupted, pleasant memories of Draco's arse in said garments conflicting with his incredulity at the choice.

"I grabbed what I could, the Dark Prince had clothes for effect, not practicality," Draco returned. "They're the most hard-wearing things I had."

Okay, so the logic made some sense, and intrigued Harry, so he asked, "What else did you bring?"

"My apartment, although well equipped for the pleasures of life," his lover shrugged, "did not have much for what could have been a life on the road, so mostly I brought stuff I thought we'd be able to barter with."

That explained the selection of expensive-looking watches and jewellery, small, but worth a few Galleons. However, there were other things which did not look so economic on space, or that they'd be worth anything. One such item was the book that Crookshanks was sitting on. Curious, Harry pulled at the corner and slid it out from under a disgusted cat (he didn't move though). The young man recognised the style of artistry on the cover from another book of similar age that had been left on his bed as a sorry gift; it was a children's annual just called, 'Wizard', and what had once been highly coloured characters from the stories inside were bouncing around the now faded cover.

"And I brought some precious things," Draco admitted, and looked a bit embarrassed; Harry smiled at him and sighed, "I wish I had stuff like this from my childhood, but Aunt Petunia threw out anything I tried to keep, and there wasn't much room under the stairs anyway."

"Most of my things are back at the manor," Draco seemed relieved that he wasn't being laughed at, and sat down on the other side of the bed, "but I bargained for some things. Lucius didn't approve, sentimentality is a weakness, but he let me have them because they were something I cared about that he could always take away again if I displeased him."

Slytherin reasoning was not always pleasant, and Harry opened the book to get away from the nasty taste of Lucius' manipulations. What lay inside the front cover was not what he was expecting to see; Harry took in a deep breath of wonder, and didn't try to stop the grin which crept over his face. Nestled protectively between cover and front page was a photograph of a boy and his mother that Harry barely recognised. It was, ostensibly, Draco, aged about 11 in his Hogwarts uniform, but it was not the haughty, closed child that his then nemesis remembered from school, this was a blond angel with an open, joyful grin on his face as he leant back into a hug from an equally unguarded Narcissa. Mother and son looked so free as she cuddled him too close and planted a sloppy kiss on his face, which of course, he rubbed off, but he wasn't complaining too hard, and the warmth in the picture was a happy shock.

"Mother called that her secret picture," Draco told him, his eyes lighting up with the memory, and his tone beautifully soft. "Lucius wouldn't have approved. He commissioned a family portrait just before I started at school, but he was late for the first sitting. The artist asked if he could take some photographs for reference, and while we were waiting, he took that. He gave it to mother when he brought the painting and she kept it in her journal. I found it hidden in one of the books I'd asked for from the manor."

"It's -," Harry tried to express how the photograph made him feel, but his thoughts were unsatisfactory and instead, he just found himself watching the two figures as mother coddled son again and again; he was jealous and happy and surprised and glad all at the same time, and seeing Narcissa as only her son had seen her made him understand why Draco was so conflicted about her.

"She doted on me," the Malfoy child murmured, and his smile grew sad at the edges as reality bit and he continued, "right up until she sent me into Voldemort's clutches."

Harry closed the book before memories could turn truly dark, and diverted, "Talking of doting, Mum sent us some supper."

He passed over one pack of sandwiches; Draco took them, and the digression, and his smile brightened again as he observed, "So you're all forgiven then."

"Foliage is a wonderful thing," Harry nodded.


	56. The Dark Prince Supreme

Draco had really dressed for the part of the Dark Prince. The clothing he had rescued from Crookshanks the previous evening had gone into an ensemble, which, if Harry hadn't been quite so preoccupied with how important Phitts' interrogation was, might have been thoroughly distracting. People were used to seeing Draco in black, it was all he wore, but when he walked into the agreed meeting room in leather trousers and silk shirt, his contrasting hair styled with magic to maximum effect, heads turned; even Albus blinked a few times.

"You thought Phitts would believe the Dark Prince had taken to shopping at economy stores?" the young man remonstrated, hands on hips and well into his role.

The room was a good deal less full than the day before, only those who needed to be present being among the company: Tonks, due to her knack for disguise, and Seamus since he was averagably unmemorable were to be the prince's minions in case Phitts became nasty; Malcolm was there because Phitts was his responsibility once he came into Tutus; Snape, true to form, had insisted on being involved in anything to do with Draco Malfoy; Albus and Amelia were there to oversee everything; and there was a man, tall, broad and unshaven whom Harry didn't recognise. The others looked away, back to a discussion that the couple's arrival had interrupted, but the stranger regarded both newcomers for longer, uninhibited in his assessment by any manners.

"Draco, Harry, this is Marcus Gripas," Albus introduced into the mild hostility that the cool observation created. "His team was responsible for capturing Garakin Phitts, and have, thus far, been conducting his interrogation."

"So you're the reason my people had to risk dragging Phitts all the way here," Gripas revealed that he wasn't impressed with the plan, or by Draco.

"I can be very persuasive," the younger Malfoy countered, oozing a confidence which, from a difficult night, and an uneaten breakfast, Harry knew was only skin deep.

Gripas just snorted dismissively and looked back to Dumbledore. Harry decided to ignore him and turned to his mentor as well, asking, "Where are we?"

"Auror Gripas brought Phitts in to Tutus an hour ago, and he has been installed in the interrogation suite," Amelia answered first.

"He was very impressed with the fancy accommodation," Draco's new best friend disdained. "He laughed."

"Derision is the resource of the disturbed mind," Draco condescended smoothly, not making it clear whether he was referring to Phitts or Gripas. "A gilded cage may loosen his tongue more effectively than austerity. At the very least his laughter tells us that it has upset his suppositions so far."

"It has been confirmed that it is as we thought," Dumbledore moved the interchange along, frowning a warning at both men. "Thus far Phitts has not been told by whom he is being held. However, he has indeed supposed for himself that it is the Resistance."

"Then I'm ready when you are," Malfoy offered.

* * *

Harry installed himself in a chair behind the viewing wall that looked out onto the lavishly prepared suite where Phitts was sprawled across a plush sofa, looking for all intents and purposes like he owned the place. Their prisoner was a little man who liked his food, and, it appeared that captivity had not diminished his belly to any great degree. The only thing that gave away the fact that his prior accommodations might not have been quite so hospitable was the way in which he was greedily chewing on a chicken leg which he had ripped off from a hefty bird without ceremony. Harry observed the crack in the otherwise nonchalant façade and made note of it with the quill and notebook he had brought with him.

Snape took the seat next to Harry; they shared a look, which told him that Severus, who appeared to be keeping his observations purely in his head, was not impressed with note-taking, but nothing was said; this was too important for minor squabbles. Gripas took the third seat, and was not above comment as he let his companion's know, "Greedy little toad. This is a mistake."

"We shall see," Severus put him down with his usual cool manner, which, for once, Harry decided could be useful.

Gripas gave them both a frown, but then turned his attention fully and silently to the viewing wall. They sat in silence for a few minutes before the players made their entrance. Harry bit his lip and felt all the nerves he knew Draco would never show as, without warning, the door to Phitt's palatial suite was swept open. Tonks came in first, wand drawn and looking nothing like the bouncy woman that she was; she was dressed in plain black, her hair was short, almost to the point of being masculine, and she'd added weight to her brow ridges, just enough to give her a hard androgynous look. She scanned the room, then fixed an unsure prisoner with a glare, and finally, she turned back to the door way and nodded.

Seamus entered next, also clothed in black, his hair sleeked back and his face set in a self-important sneer. He was escorting their third player, as yet a figure in a long, black hooded cloak, who strode into the room displaying confidence even when hidden. Draco stopped on the other side of the laden coffee table, right in front of Phitt's, who was frozen in his seat, half-eaten mouthful of chicken hanging open. He gave his prisoner enough time to take in the flanking guards, and the rich disguise, enough time to wonder what was going on and be scared by it, and then he answered the first question. With an air of casual authority, the shadowy form reached up, unclipped the cloak and threw it backwards off his body; the effect was very impressive, at least Harry thought so, as the Dark Prince revealed himself, proud, confident and unselfconsciously sensual. Garakin nearly choked on the meat in his mouth as terror crossed his face, he stood up as quickly as he could manage and bowed as low as was possible with his belly. Draco watched him, his smile widening and Harry felt the first chills of knowing that callous expression too well.

"Your Highness," the subordinate grovelled.

"Garakin, may I call you Garakin?" Malfoy asked as a man who knew he could not be refused.

"Of course, Your Highness," Phitts remained bent over.

"Up, up," the master told his slave, and the man was stood straight again faster than Harry thought was possible, "and Your Highness is far too formal for these circumstances, Garakin, Sir will do."

"Yes, Sir," the anxious man nodded; Draco's smile deepened, the same intimidating smile he had used on his first meeting with Gryffindor Tower's only prisoner, and Harry shivered.

"Sit down, Garakin," the Dark Prince waved his minion into his seat and, as the man crashed back onto the sofa, looked around at the rest of the room. Phitts sat very still, clearly caught totally off guard by the appearance of one of the most famous and feared people of the New Order, but by the way his eyes were scanning his visitor, Harry guessed that the man was reassessing his situation on the fly. "What do you think of your new accommodation, Garakin," Draco used the official's name like a weapon, beating in his authority, and Harry didn't like it.

"They are magnificent," Phitts gushed, lowering his eyes as his lord's attention returned to him.

"Really, my people tell me that you laughed at them."

Harry cringed as he heard a touch of petulant whimsy in the Heir Apparent's tone and he saw the smile disappear into psychosis; unconsciously, he found his hand rubbing the scar on his stomach.

"I-I apologise, Sir," the scared man stammered, his fingers wrapping into his robe, "I thought that this was another Resistance ploy to get me to talk."

The prince paused, surveying his subject, who held his breath in tandem with Harry, but, after a long moment, his glimmer of sociability returned, and he nodded. Garakin breathed again, but Harry felt his chest get tighter; this was the cruel, self-protective Malfoy with whom he had been faced in his loneliness, not the Draco who had given him solace and made him love, and Harry shifted uncomfortably as those memories came to the front of his mind.

"Of course," Malfoy smiled once more, then snapped his fingers at one of his people and indicated to a chair to his left; Seamus slid the furniture up behind Draco, and languidly, he sank into it. He sprawled across the cushions, his manner superficially leisurely, but his tone revealed more presence, brooking no dispute, as he continued, "It was a useful tool to deceive any interest in my people's activities, but for you, I have decided to end the myth that you are being held by the Resistance."

For the first time, Phitts revealed that he was not just a cowering servant, because his eyes narrowed at that information, and he asked carefully, "May I enquire as to why?"

"You may enquire," Draco fixed the man with a dangerous flash of his eyes, which made the other man sit back. Then he leant forward and grabbed a knife from the table and began to toy with it as he was toying with his prisoner; Garakin began gulping back his fear as he watched the blade closely. Harry was watching his lover's face, the knife was irrelevant, and he, not the unfortunate prisoner saw the explosion coming. He tensed before Draco moved: for Garakin, there was no warning, and he screamed as the armed attacker came straight over the table at him.

The little man was fast enough that he had managed to half curl into a protective ball, but the Dark Prince had him pinned to the sofa, a knife at his throat before any escape was possible. Phitts looked up at his master, terror in his eyes, gasps of horror coming from his mouth, but once the blade was resting at his jugular, he had the sense not to move. Harry shocked himself as he realised that his instincts told him that if the mouse had run at that point, the snow-white cat would have taken his prey.

"What is he doing?!" Gripas objected and dragged Harry's attention away from the wild prince for a moment.

"Fulfilling Phitts' expectations," Severus answered evenly, his focus never shifting from the other room.

Swiftly, Harry returned to the tableau, cold and hot at the same time as Draco made his adrenaline pump. The Heir was leaning over his victim, hovering close, but only touching him with the knife.

"Let us be frank, Garakin," he purred, labouring the dominance. "My initial intentions were to extract what information I require from you, then have you killed and your body dumped in a suitably public place so as to lay the blame at the Resistance's feet."

Harry didn't think Phitts was breathing at all now: his face was going red, he was shaking and sweating. He coughed violently as Draco just as suddenly stepped away from him and wandered away.

"However," he turned and viewed his plaything once more, the hand holding the knife resting under his chin. Malfoy smiled again, and Phitts squirmed under his interest. "Your resilience and conviction have impressed me." The minion clearly didn't know what to think at that revelation, except that a flicker of hope for his life appeared on his wobbling face. "I want men with your qualities as my allies: I believe you can be useful, and so I have decided to give you a chance to help me."

Phitts mouth opened and closed, but nothing sensible came out. Draco took this in his stride, feigning amusement, and then switched again, to look absolutely aghast.

"Merlin, where are my manners?" he chided himself with the ease of someone who didn't give a damn. "A trying journey, and then I interrupt the first good meal you've had in weeks." The Dark Prince slid the very sharp knife into the chicken and released it. "I will leave you to your food, and we can talk in more detail later."

Garakin Phitts had been phased completely by Draco's act, and he just watched as, as suddenly as he had arrived, the Heir Apparent decided to leave. Once he had set his sights on the door, Malfoy didn't give his prisoner a second thought, or glance. However, his subordinates did, and their heavy gazes remained on the trembling man until their master had opened the door, at which point, they both gave him looks which said he was not worth their attention and then followed Draco out of the door.

"What did he do that for?" Gripas complained, getting up out of his seat and circling round his chair impatiently. "He just let him off the hook."

"There will be other hooks, Mr Gripas," Severus sounded like he was giving a potion's homework. "Phitts is not unintelligent, and Draco is playing this carefully."

At that point, Draco came into the room, and Harry stood up immediately that he saw his lover's face; the young man was drawn, and white, and his eyes showed that he was in shock. However, Gripas' intolerance reached the strained interrogator before Harry could, as he snarked, "You could have worked him just now, he would have told you anything you wanted to know."

Draco looked at his opponent for a long moment, no emotion reaching through the tired greyness, but then he told him quietly, "I know his kind and I know what I'm doing, back off."

His tone made up for what Draco lacked in volume, and the Resistance man actually had the sense to keep silent. Harry reached out a hand to his partner, and found a needy grip wrap around his fingers.

Yet that was the extent of Draco's admission of vulnerability as he stared down Gripas a little longer. It wasn't until the heftier man blinked and glanced down at the grip of hands that Draco backed off, and he did so by turning to the viewing window, leaving Harry to meet the curious gaze of the resistance man. He was getting used to the surprise and suspicion which came with being attached to the ex-Dark Prince, but Harry still didn't like it, so he too swiftly moved his attention to the window. Draco was watching Phitts: Harry watched Draco. His lover's profile revealed nothing but concentration. However, the way in which he was threatening to crush his hand told Harry that there were currents of emotion running below the ice with which Draco has surrounded himself.

"Well, you managed to put him off his food," Gripas observed as he joined the watchers.

By his tone, the man had clearly meant to be derisory, and Harry glared at him. However, Draco has a better answer.

"Good, that means he's not so sure of himself anymore," Draco put his opponent down, but the stressed way in which he bit off his words rather undermined his cool exterior.

The cracks beginning to show, Harry decided play-acting could wait for the interrogation room: he extricated his fingers from his partner's grip and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. He was expecting some resistance, but was surprised when Draco just sagged against him. His lover's eyes were still watching Phitts intently, but the rest of Draco gave in to the offer of support.

"He's having to rethink what he thought he knew," Draco continued with just a little condescension in his voice.

Harry was used to the Slytherin assumption that no-one else could possibly comprehend such deviousness, but Gripas was not, and Harry felt him bristle from the other side of the room.

"So how long is this rethink going to take?" the stranger growled.

"An hour, or so," Draco answered, still watching. "He'll stew in his own doubts, calculating the odds that I'm not who I appear to be, wondering how he could have guessed so wrongly, what the consequences will be if he continues to resist."

"And if he decides to resist?!"

Draco finally turned away from the worried little man in the other room and focused on his other opponent.

"He probably will resist," the Dark Prince sneered, his arms folding across his chest, "He'll try and wheedle out of answering any questions, but I have some unique persuasions that should terrify him into capitulating."

Gripas raised an eyebrow, his expression asking what those persuasions would be, but Harry knew Draco well enough to know that he was not planning on revealing anything else. Rubbing their new ally up the wrong way seemed to be rather too easy, and for a second, Harry wondered if there was going to be a fight of more than words. However, the sparks behind Gripas' expression were well contained, and it was he who broke the moment and looked to Severus.

"I'll be back in a hour, you keep our Dark Prince in reign till then."

Harry watched Gripas' back as the man stormed out, and decided that he had to be a Gryffindor, but that was as far as his ponderings went, because, as soon as the door slammed, Draco distracted him by sitting down very quickly. Harry crouched down and looked up into a face which was no longer masked and what he saw he could only equate to shock.

"I don't remember it being this difficult," Draco admitted, his voice sounding stunned. "I'm sure I used to enjoy terrorizing little toads like him."

"If it was meant to be easy, Draco, we would all be like Voldemort," Severus drew both their attentions with the little piece of unexpected wisdom; Severus ignored Harry, but his lip curled a little as he regarded Draco and offered, "I do not think Gripas likes you very much."

Harry didn't think much of the humour, but it must have been a Slytherin thing, because Draco sat straighter in the chair, and his eyes were brighter as he replied with relish, "I won't be losing sleep over it."

* * *

An hour went by with surprising speed as Harry fussed and Draco ignored him in favour of deconstructing the interview with Severus. Harry didn't much like the reasoning he was hearing, but then, neither did Draco, which was why he was fussing. The prisoner had never seen the aftermath of any of the switches that he'd experienced from the Dark Prince, but from the shock that still hung around his lover, Harry guessed that they had not had such an impact on their perpetrator. In some ways, the idea that he had had such an influence on Draco gave Harry comfort, but in others, it worried him that the Heir's Apparent's mask was not as all-protecting as it had been.

Draco was still subdued when Gripas returned, however, his back straightened instantly and Harry felt him tense where his arm was still protectively draped around his lover's shoulders. A minor shrug was enough of a hint for Harry to remove the admission of weakness, and then Draco stood up to meet the hostility that came with the resistance fighter.

"He's stewed enough," Draco announced, nodding his head towards their prisoner, who was staring into space, a frown of consternation on his face.

Gripas still didn't like being told his job, but no comment came this time, just a look that could have frozen fire. Draco's lip curled at the minor victory, but Harry was watching the rest of his body language and he could see the toll the battle of wills was taking on his partner. Trying not to look like a mother hen, he too stood up and placed himself beside Draco and offered, "Shall we get on with it then?"

"About time we saw what 'unique persuasions' you have up your sleeve," Gripas ignored Harry and spoke directly to Draco.

Draco's smile disappeared again, his only rise to the bait. Then even that expression was gone as Draco headed silently and swiftly to the door. He was gone before either supporter or detractor had really caught up with the movement, and Harry was left looking at Gripas. He tried to harden the worry out of his face, but it had been seen and, as the door closed behind Draco, the newcomer observed, "You and him, more than friends, aren't you?"

"Not that it's any of your business," Harry cut back, trying to learn from Draco's cool demeanour, "but yes."

He didn't think he was quite so successful, and he was surprised when no quip came flying: Gripas just fixed him with an unreadable stare and then nodded. Then the exchange was over and the other man turned to the window. Severus was already fixated on the glass as Gripas and then Harry joined him, and silence fell over the tension that knitted Harry's spine.

Draco hadn't been looking forward to going back in to the interrogation, and the knowledge of that had Harry wound like a spring. He didn't want to sit down this time, and he left his notes on the seat, forgotten in the emotional scheme of things.

The door to Garakin's room opened once more, and in a second the prisoner was on his feet, and bowing low. The entrance played out as before, Tonks, then Seamus and finally the Dark Prince. Harry had no defences against the disdainful figure who strode in to the room, and chills ran up and down his spine as he watched Draco cross the room and throw himself casually into the same chair he had left an hour ago. Then he laughed: Harry shivered.

"Do sit down, Garakin," the prince condescended, and rapidly, the cowering man collapsed onto the sofa.

Phitt's face was white, and little red spots on his cheeks showed that he was still having difficulty breathing. He was trying to look calm, the way he shifted in his seat and straightened his shoulders showed Harry that, but the bulky man's eyes kept flicking from the self-confident tormentor to the knife that was still in reach, poking out of the chicken. Draco did not acknowledge the remaining threat openly, but Harry gritted his teeth as he heard, "Garakin, weren't you hungry?"

To his credit, Phitt's chin raised at that and he answered, "I had more important matters to consider."

Ice-blue eyes narrowed, and their subject held his breath under their scrutiny, but the serious answer won over the whimsy and Draco told him, "Good answer, Garakin."

The prince waved at his subordinate and indicated to the food: quickly, it was removed. Phitts let out a long breath as the bird and the weapon it bore were taken out of reach, and Draco smiled superiorly at him.

"You know when to make your point," the young leader praised, his tone full of the power he wielded. "I admire that in my people. You must have questions, ask."

It was not a request.

Garakin Phitts took another, slow, deep breath, and by the time he began to let it out again, he had composed himself. Harry wasn't ignorant when it came to strategy, but the coolness of the two players before him went way beyond his political abilities, but he was certain Draco knew exactly what was coming next: the Heir Apparent was exuding an air of leisurely confidence if you looked at his body, but the look in his eyes could have rooted any man to the spot. Phitts met that look and began carefully, "Sir, it is my knowledge of Azkaban which interests you, is it not?"

The Dark Prince inclined his head almost imperceptibly, and that was it, no change in facial expression, no other movement to suggest how the question had been received. Garakin blinked, and his next breath was faster, and Harry chilled further as he, like Phitts, could not decide what lay behind the mask. Phitts had to rally up courage for another question, and he swallowed several times, less composed this time as he pushed further with, "Why do you need such information?"

Draco, with a flick of his head, looked away from his subject: Phitts started at the gesture, which feigned consideration of something, but in fact, was only thinly veiled indifference.

"Let us just say I have plans for a demonstration of my loyalty to the Dark Lord," Draco mused, only returning his attention to his subject once he had finished the disclosure.

"The Mudbloods," Phitts risked the conclusion, and his derision came thickly through his tone.

Harry wrapped his arms tighter around his body, trying to stifle the trembles that threatened as he watched his lover sit forward, a nasty smile on his features.

"I like your thinking, Garakin," he praised again, his eyes flashing, and drew the man forward with a wag of his finger; once the nervous face was within a few inches of him, he whispered, "I will rid this country of that contaminated burden once and for all."

"To what end?" Phitts sounded more confident now, and a small smile was playing on his lips.

Draco laughed again, and patted the man's shoulder. Then he stood up and strutted around the back of the chair and offered, "The old guard have had their day, Garakin, it is time for the next generation to serve their Lord. To make it truly great, this country needs new blood, new energy, new commitment. The Dark Lord has placed his trust in me, and I shall show him I am worthy of it."

"You are indeed his heir, Sir," Phitts was gaining confidence with every breath, and Harry saw the mistake coming: the man's tone had lost some of its careful reverence, and the Dark Prince turned towards it.

When he heard the 'but', Harry's stomach turned over and he saw Draco's stare harden.

"But what?" cut Phitts dead, even though the tone was low.

Draco didn't fly this time, he froze, the rage building inside a statue: Harry could see it, Garakin could see it, and there was nothing either could do to stop it.

"You see a flaw?" he enquired with menace.

"No, Sir," Garakin stammered, bailing out a sinking boat with a sieve, "not at all. I used the wrong word. I just wanted to ask how you feel the Dark One will respond to your demonstration."

"Isn't it obvious?" Draco snapped back petulantly.

Garakin's mouth kept moving, but the terror already inspired was hindering his powers of speech.

"You doubt his faith in me?!" the pampered psychopath asked, but he was drawing his own conclusions even as his victim stammered his denial. "I am his Chosen One. His power is in me!"

Draco ripped open his shirt, displaying the mark over his heart, and then Harry grabbed the window ledge as he felt magic lurch. His knees nearly gave out as the wave of power ran through him, but the source of the magic showed no such weakness: the Dark Prince leant over the back of the chair and reached his hand out to the cowering Death Eater before him. He did not touch, but as he growled, "He and I are one," Harry felt Draco finish the gesture with his magic.

There was nothing at first, not on the surface, just a confusing tableau, and Gripas snarled, "What this time?!"

Harry barely heard him: it was not on the surface that things were working, and he started as something met Draco's magic head on. His scar complained and the ghost of battle turned his stomach, making Harry whine. He put his hand to his head, showing a weakness that was the opposite of the rage on his lover's face.

"What's he doing?!" a voice close to his ear distracted Harry for a second.

If it had been Gripas, Harry would have ignored the enquiry, but it was Severus, urgent and worried, and so he turned.

"A lot of magic," he managed through gritted teeth, "fighting Voldemort."

Severus did not look impressed with the explanation, and there was something on the tip of his tongue, but it was never said, because very suddenly it didn't matter any more. Severus did not have much colour to his sallow complexion, but what he did have drained away and a gasp escaped his lips. His hand went rapidly to his wrist and Harry realised why he could feel his enemy's presence: both men sunk to their knees as Draco's power challenged the considerable strength of the Dark Mark.

"What the hell?" Gripas demanded, leaning over Harry, but Harry ignored him as a grunt came from Severus, and, clearly unable to help himself, he curled over into Harry.

A small part of Harry considered this absurd: Severus Snape did not need his support. Yet, most of him was too distracted by the sheer volume of magic that Draco was using to care, and so he wrapped his companion with one arm and hung on to his stomach contents. It was the vocal beginnings of distress which drew his attention back to the viewing window, and he watched as Garakin Phitts shuddered with the same pain that was possessing Severus. Draco had not moved, did not move as the mew became a wail, he just watched, all his power lorded over his victim.

Yet, the wail became a scream and finally the Dark Prince broke. Garakin didn't see, he was shuddering in a pile on the sofa, eyes closed, but Harry saw the pain and the hurt of what he was doing come through Draco. As suddenly as it had started, the battle stopped. Phitts and Severus choked on the ending of their pain in unison and before he was discovered, Draco turned on his heel and charged out of the room.

The burning of his scar settled, but magic still churned inside Harry, and he knew the aftermath of Draco's battle was going to be brutal.

"Look after Severus," he ordered Gripas.

The man looked down at him stupidly, but there was no time to waste on those already recovering, so Harry just scrabbled to his feet and dashed to the door. He found the handle more by accident than judgement and then staggered out into the corridor. Draco was stood between Tonks and Seamus, staring at the floor, his eyes wider then Harry had ever seen them, his face aghast and his breathing was coming in fast gasps. Tonks and Seamus were looking worried, but clearly did not understand the gravity of the situation; as yet, his lover was silent and white, but Harry could see and feel the storm behind his gaze ready to break out.

Harry closed the distance between them with a speed he didn't know he possessed and wrapped Draco in all the protection he had. His lover leant against him, unresisting, shock taking away any reaction for a few moments. Yet in the warmth of the embrace, something began slowly to show outwardly: a sound somewhere between a growl and a whine came out of Draco's throat, and fingers wrapped themselves tightly into Harry's clothing.

"Let it out," Harry encouraged as the conflict reminded him of the rune removal.

Draco began to shake, tremors going from nothing to violent in a heartbeat. The Dark Mark was a bitter spell to fight, and its barbs had bored deeply. Draco's magic convulsed, turning Harry's gut, and Draco's shudders ran in a wave through him and into Harry. The feeling of helplessness, which came with the knowledge of his lover's internal battle, was familiar to Harry, and he just held Draco as the consequences of the battle ran their course. Draco finally let out a bark of pain, but he choked on it and clung on more tightly to Harry.

"Don't fight it," Harry told his charge, trying to keep his tone strong and reassuring.

The cry that came from Draco then grew from the strangled whine into angry hurt. Clenched fists dug into his chest as Harry held Draco close, but they were insignificant compared with the tumult in Draco's magic. Equilibriums had been challenged, and defences fought defences as the Dark Mark's retaliation was expelled. Draco buried his face into Harry's shoulder, muffling the cry, but it made it no less difficult to which to listen. Harry buried his own feelings by glaring at Severus, who had been helped into the corridor by Gripas and was leaning against the wall, cradling his arm like it had been broken: the ex-Death Eater just looked back, his normal calculating, self-protective demeanour broken by the actions of his one-time protégé.

Harry was so intent on Severus, and so used to the tension in his lover, that when the latter fell away, it took his a second to notice. Draco became a dead weight in his arms, and Harry's knees nearly gave out as he failed to compensate quickly enough. Yet there were people all around them: Seamus, Tonks, Gripas, and they were more alert. Seamus and Tonks grabbed for Draco and Harry was hauled away from his boyfriend by the hefty resistance fighter. He was quickly installed against the wall next to Severus, and left to regain his own balance as Marcus went to help their companions, who were lowering an unmoving Draco to the floor.

* * *

"He's alright," Tonks looked up at Harry and spoke very clearly once her charge was lying on the ground, "just passed out."

"What the hell happened?" Gripas demanded, while shoving a hastily removed sweater under Draco's head.

"Draco did something to the Dark Mark," Harry spoke only as the hostile man's glare came to rest on him, forcing him to concentrate past the worry that Tonks had tried to head-off. "Then it attacked him."

"So why did he mess with that demon of a spell?" it was Seamus who spoke this time, appearing to agree with Marcus.

Harry really didn't have an answer, his brain was still trying to handle the what, let alone the why. However, Severus revealed that he understood Draco's motives as he stood away from the wall. Straightening himself back to his formal height, and pulling back the sleeve covering his mark, Snape explained, "One fundamental law that every Death Eater understands: they serve only one lord and this is his mark, his alone. By manipulating this magic, Draco has ensured that Phitts now has two masters."

Tonks was too busy watching Draco to show much response, but both Seamus and Gripas looked like the message had sunk home, even if they weren't very happy with it: Marcus was eyeing Severus more carefully than he had done before, the revelation of the Dark Mark clearly having unsettled him; Seamus just looked like he had when bad-mouthing Slytherins at school. The moment broke when the fallen showed signs of life.

Harry pushed himself away from the wall, and knelt quickly; Seamus moved out of his way, and Harry slid his hand into Draco's as his lover frowned and groaned. His grip was returned, and Draco's sound grew deeper as his eyes flickered open. Harry made sure the slowly-focusing gaze fixed on him, and he smiled his relief. As sentience returned, Draco had one comment on the situation: his tone sounded almost amused as he admitted, "Ouch!"

"Twat!" Harry chided at the off-hand reaction, and pulled on the arm he was holding.

Draco sat up easily, but that didn't stop Harry from grabbing him into a hug which spoke of the worry that the incident had generated, and by the way that his boyfriend reached instantly back, Harry knew that the bravado was mainly for show.

"Don't do that again," Harry continued the telling off, which made him feel a little more in control.

"Wasn't planning on it," Draco agreed, but pushed Harry gently away.

Their companions had remained silent during the short discourse, but Gripas took the break as reason to make comment.

"So what do you do for an encore?" he asked dryly, but to Harry's surprise, the man was smiling when he turned to look at him.

"Reintroduce my enforcer," Draco returned smoothly and indicated their newest colleague.

"Oh, so you turn my prisoner into mush and then expect me to do all the hard work?" the repartee continued, and given the teasing glint in Marcus' eyes, Harry had to wonder if he'd misjudged this man as a Gryffindor.

"That's what minions are for," Draco cut back, and that drew a low, guttural laugh out of Marcus.

Something had changed Marcus Gripas' opinion of Draco Malfoy, but Harry couldn't put his finger on what that was, or exactly how much that estimation had altered. His brain was still in worry land, understandable since his stomach hadn't quite stopped churning either, and the fact that his partner and their formerly hostile companion were throwing quips at each other was just confusing. Yet, he could clearly see that the way Marcus was now regarding Draco may have been a little frustrated, but it held no hostility.

"How long does he get to stew this time?"

"Just a long as it takes me to work out how to walk again," Draco shrugged, and drew a frown from Harry.

On the surface, the Slytherin ignored the look, and laughed as Tonks observed, "Poppy is going to have your guts for garters." However, Harry found a hand in his, and the squeeze of fingers let him know his concern was welcome.

"Not if you don't tell her," Draco suggested with a smirk.

"Oh, you think this one is going to get by her spies?" the woman scoffed.

"It would be best that we ensure it does not," Severus' serious tones brought the strange mood back to ground, and everyone turned to him: Draco's grip tightened a little more as he was reprimanded, "Meddling with the Dark Mark may have longer term side effects."

"Worse than having part of Him inside me for twenty three years?" Draco snarked back.

Severus took the temper with a raise of his chin and a look that fixed Harry even when it was not directed at him.

"Let your healer be the judge of that."

No more snark, just uncomfortable silence as mentor and protégé regarded each other.

"Shall we get the job done before this Poppy finds out then?" Gripas broke the exchange by putting himself between Draco and Severus.

Snape blinked at Marcus, and Harry recognised the 'something smells bad' look that replaced the authority in his eyes, but he did back down. Draco let go of Harry's hand and held his palm out to his new ally.

"Help me up."

Harry put down any over-protective urges which told him to take the extended hand: this wasn't about getting Draco to his feet. Instead, he watched a new respect forming as one man helped another to stand. Draco was wobbly, but Marcus steadied him and they paused in the comfort of an embryonic trust. Harry stuck his hands into his pockets and bit his tongue. Draco finally stood by himself and Gripas asked, "How do you want to play this?"

* * *

Harry sat down in the viewing room next to Severus for what he hoped was the last time. He was feeling better about Marcus Gripas since the about-face, but that didn't mean he was any more comfortable with the proceedings surrounding Garakin Phitts, who was still hunched over himself on the sofa. Draco was doing a good job of hiding the effects of the intimidation of Phitts from their other three comrades, but for once, Harry knew that he and Severus shared a common concern for the costs that ran deeper than mere magical discord. As the door swept open once more, Harry held his breath.

Draco had rearranged his clothing carefully before returning to his victim. However, to their prisoner's eye, he was still the wild creature who had stormed out only minutes earlier. His hair was falling about his face in maddened tangles and his shirt was hanging off one shoulder, displaying the mark that Voldemort had left on his heir. The whole psychotic presentation was topped off with a wide-eyed anger that was held back with the merest hint of coherence.

"Garakin!" Draco began as soon as he strode into the room, shadowed by Marcus.

The prisoner threw himself off the couch and landed in a shivering heap on the floor, his face pushed hard into the carpet as he intoned, "Master."

"Well, well, learning your place at last," Draco came to a halt with his boots a few centimetres from the bowed head.

"How may I serve you, Master?" Phitts begged for his life with the offer, and Harry cringed.

"You already know my friend, Marcus," the Dark Prince reintroduced, and waited as his slave risked a glance upwards.

As soon as the move was made, Draco sunk into a crouch and caught the trembling man under the chin with his hand.

"You will answer every question he asks, with every detail you can remember. He will know everything that you know. Do you understand me, Garakin?"

Fixed by the Heir Apparent's stare, the Death Eater had lost his power of speech, but he did manage to nod his head once. Draco maintained the dominance for a while longer, sending chills up and down Harry's spine, but eventually, both to Phitts' and Harry's relief, he released the prisoner.

The job was finished, and, Harry stood in time with Draco and headed to his own door. However, he started as his hand reached for the handle when he heard the Dark Prince's dangerous whimsy one more time.

"Oh, and Garakin," Draco drew everyone's attention: even Gripas stopped halfway through the act of hauling Phitts to his feet.

When he saw the self-assured curve of lip and the taunting sparkle in Draco's eyes, Harry could not stall the memories of the man who had used him as a plaything; he was dragged back into them as surely as Garakin Phitts was given new terrors to haunt his dreams, and he froze. The Dark Prince paused his discourse with a leisure which told those awaiting it that he controlled everything. Phitts was mesmerised, his terror making him a ghost of the self-assured Death Eater whom Harry had first seen enjoying lunch. Harry was hypnotised as well, and his tormentor was speaking directly to him when he heard, "If you fail me, I will kill you myself."

Harry watched his dominator's casual, lithe turn back towards the door, partly impressed and partly appalled. Even after the door closed behind their Dark Prince, Phitts and Harry remained frozen by his echo; Gripas was the means by which Phitts was brought back down to earth, he shoved the man backwards onto the sofa, and it was Severus who became Harry's means of escape. The calculating Slytherin was still watching Marcus work their prisoner, but his tone said he was aware of the atmosphere behind as well as in front when he told Harry simply, "Go."

The tone was calm and sure and it dragged Harry back to the present. His fingers locked around the door handle, and, as fast as possible, he left the deceptive little world behind.


	57. Results, Good and Bad

Draco hadn't said much when Harry had grabbed him and, with a quick word to Tonks, had dragged him out of the little nightmare he had created for them. He didn't even say much when Harry planted him in front of Poppy and told her what had happened. So Harry was somewhat on edge, especially when he was shooed out of the room while the healer conducted an examination. Throwing him out hadn't really been necessary, Harry knew Draco wouldn't have minded him staying, but Poppy had had her authoritarian hat on, and so Harry had retreated and started to pace in the corridor outside the exam room. Thus, he had also begun to brood.

Harry had thought he'd put the Dark Prince behind him: those horrible encounters had been superseded by the love that had grown from their ashes. Yet watching Draco turn another human being to quivery putty had stirred the older feelings of hatred and disgust and, more significantly, fear. The psychotic stare that had tormented the prisoner was once again sitting in the front of the free man's mind, and there was no stifling the shivers that ran up and down Harry's spine each time his thoughts came to rest upon it.

Trying to focus himself in the present, Harry concentrated on the state in which the interrogation had left his lover. Yet, his emotions clashed on that as well. The leftover prisoner was glad that the intimidation had had such a dramatic effect on his lover; the contrast was a comfort, but the selfishness of that satisfaction also inspired guilt, and the mixture made Harry pace even faster. He was therefore moving at quite a speed when a laugh from under the door brought him to a sudden halt. The worried man turned to the door and tried to work out if the laughter had been in humour or derogation.

With his instincts half back at Hogwarts and half worrying about his partner, Harry failed to judge either way; the conflicting emotions were giving him a headache and he rubbed the furrows of his brow in anxious consternation. He was still finishing the motion when Poppy opened the door and caught him: she crossed her hands over her apron and fixed him with professional scrutiny.

"Draco is not the only one to have had a shock today," she observed, and then stood aside and indicated for Harry to re-enter the room.

A packet was slipped into his hand as he walked by his healer, and Harry knew exactly what it was before he lifted his hand to examine it: a chocolate frog. Draco was already chewing on one and swinging his legs off the examination couch like he was a school boy again. The contrast between old and new this time made Harry smile.

"Is that the verdict?" Harry decided to try and be professional (Draco was still technically his responsibility).

However, he still perched himself beside his lover on the trolley and ripped open the chocolate. The sweet flavour ran down his throat and sent a whole new gale of shivers down his spine, but they began to remove the knots the last wave had left behind. Poppy placed herself in front of both young men and continued to appraise them as she answered, "That is part of my diagnosis, yes."

Harry had heard the but as soon as the woman had started speaking, and he glanced anxiously at his partner; Draco was paler than even he should have been, grey around the eyes and tired, he was also concentrating a little too hard on the card that had come with the frog.

"Draco," Poppy drew her patient's attention, and Harry watched the way in which he blinked at her like he had only been half listening; the healer didn't continue until Harry saw his lover's eyes focus properly, and then she disclosed, "Your magic defended you from a very nasty assault. Any normal wizard would have been seriously injured by the backlash from the Dark Mark. As it is, the mark only succeeded in causing a disruption in your magical balances, which is why you experienced the convulsions. The disruption is still settling, so I want to keep you in for a few hours observation."

Harry was expecting all manner of objection to that suggestion, and so, it appeared, was Poppy, because her professional, Healer-knows-best expression was firmly in place. However, Draco surprised them both when he just nodded meekly. Harry saw worry instantly cross the healer's face, but she recovered herself when she realised he was watching, and told him, "You as well, Harry, since you are sensitive to Draco's magic."

The young man nodded as well: he didn't think he really needed the observation, but he was not leaving Draco, and he was grateful for the leave to stay.

"Alright then," Poppy rallied their attention more firmly, and she smiled. "Now, from the state of the pair of you, and the way you're devouring that chocolate, I would guess that you did not eat well this morning."

Harry shook his head and managed a sheepish grin at being caught out. The healer frowned and smiled at the same time as she continued, "As I thought. Well then, I'll sort out a room for you both, and in the mean time have some lunch brought in here for you, and then I suggest you both relax as much as possible. A little meditation won't hurt, if you wish, Draco," Poppy warned, "but try not to use your magic, give it time to rest."

"I'll make sure he does," Harry decided to take charge, which satisfied Poppy.

"Rest well, Gentlemen," the healer finished, more like a caution than a goodbye, and then she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

After the click of the door, Harry was expecting silence to fall as he worked out how to get Draco talking. However, his thoughts were disturbed by the quiet, slightly frustrated voice of his lover who observed, "If the pair of us together manage to stay out of here for more than a week, it will be some kind of record."

Harry turned and stared hard at his companion, waiting for more, but that was it, Draco just shoved another piece of chocolate into his mouth and continued to examine his collector's card. Harry watched a little longer, and was heartened to see a vague curl to Draco's lips, but then took the hint and didn't press the issue.

* * *

Talking, it became clear to Harry, was not high on Draco's agenda, and he had spent the last three hours, seven minutes watching his lover meditate. He tried resting, but his memories were too close to the surface and, combined with his concern for Draco's lack of communication, Harry was finding even relaxing difficult. He shifted, tried not to sigh, and rubbed his neck as it reminded him that he had been sitting in the same position for far too long.

"Would you like a shoulder rub?" Draco revealed that Harry was not the only one to have been watching.

"How do you do that?" Harry snarked, his tension making him grumpy.

"What, be nice?" Draco quipped back, opening his eyes and raising an eyebrow.

Harry did sigh this time, and tried to let some of his anxiety go as he realised he was being teased: it was a good sign. He stood up and walked over to his companion; placing his hands on Draco's knees and rubbing fondly, he asked more evenly, "Know what I'm doing when your eyes are shut."

"I have four other senses you know," Draco returned easily, placing his palms over the rubbing and stretching a little so Harry knew he liked it. "You've been huffing and fidgeting every so often since we got here."

"Yes, well when you scare me like this, I get tense," Harry decided to be honest and took hold of both of his lover's hands so there could be no slipping away.

Yet, Draco didn't even attempt to move, and the self-assured front dropped somewhat to reveal a little of the pain underneath it.

"How are you feeling?" the Auror in Harry asked as professionally as possible; he knew he'd never be as good at it as Poppy Pomfrey, but it didn't stop him trying.

"Magic has calmed down," Draco responded shortly and looked away.

"I can feel that for myself," Harry chided and gave a small chuckle to try and lighten the mood: it worked in that Draco glanced back at him, and he caught the gaze with a more serious observation. "You did a good thing."

"Scaring a man half to death is not a good thing," came the immediate objection, and Harry took a step back as he was pushed away.

Draco stood up and turned his back.

"Necessary then," Harry conceded and risked placing his hand on his lover's shoulder: Draco was tense, but he didn't immediately shrug him away so Harry moved closer and ran his other arm around Draco's waist.

Draco leant back into the support almost instantly, and so Harry continued to wrap himself around him, taking him into a tight embrace that said all that he hadn't managed to say into the preceding difficult silence.

"I don't want to be that monster," Draco admitted in a gasp, and his body shook with the strength of his emotions.

Harry hugged immediately harder, and argued protectively, "You think you'd be feeling like this if you were?!"

"He made me, he's always going to be part of me," the root of the fear came out and Harry's heart broke into pieces.

Voldemort had damaged a whole nation, but the damage he had caused in this one man made Harry's blood boil. Draco was weak in his arms, and he turned him round without resistance. He showed his loved-one the pain that the admission had caused in him, and he also showed him the anger that protected him from it. He took the hurt and fear that was looking back at him, wrapped it in the same rage and told Draco emphatically, "Voldemort tried to mould you like he tried to kill me, and he failed, Draco, he lost."

"But only he can touch the Dark Mark," Draco revealed his flawless Slytherin reasoning in a totally unguarded whimper.

"No!" Harry denied and pulled his weakened companion in to him as his mind sought out denials of that logic.

Draco's brain was working faster, and he let go of a sob as he confessed into Harry's shoulder, "I felt Him, like when he marked me, I felt his hatred move inside me when I reached for the Mark."

"No," Harry refused to believe that as his lover clung to him in despair. "What you felt was the Mark reacting to you. Your magic is your own, Draco, you absorbed it, you mastered it, without Him inside you. He came from the outside, his spell touched you, defending itself, that's what you felt, from the outside in."

Draco didn't argue anymore, in fact, he didn't make another sound; as his loved-one wept silently, Harry held him and let the grief run its course.

* * *

Draco had brought his insecurities back down to proportions that he could manage alone by the time Poppy came in with afternoon tea. The very admission that his fears existed seemed to have helped him find stability, and the relief in the room was almost tangible to Harry. Poppy too seemed to pick up the fact that a breakthrough had been made, and via a series of looks exchanged between healer and attentive boyfriend, it was decided that after tea it would be time to go.

There were people waiting for them when Harry and Draco left the medibay: Severus and Hermione were hovering at Poppy's door, and Hermione, at least, looked excited.

"Hello," she greeted them both, but then slipped her hand through Draco's arm and started to lead him down the corridor as she said, "All magic back in alignment, I hope."

"Well, I'm not going to explode any time soon," Draco joked.

Harry watched his back for a moment, checking that all was as well as it could be. However, then he noticed that he was not the only one doing the observing: he turned to Severus as he realised the severe man was looking at him. Harry wasn't used to seeing concern in Snape's eyes, but then he knew it wasn't for him, and so he just waited for the enquiry behind the stare. Once Hermione and her charge were far enough away, Severus asked, "How is he?"

"Scared that no matter what, he's a monster underneath it all," Harry responded directly.

The other man nodded as though the disclosure merely confirmed his suppositions and then finished, "I shall speak with him."

With that, Severus swept off down the corridor, leaving Harry to catch up in his own time. When he did fall in with the group, the straggler heard Hermione telling Draco, "...he was apparently talking and sketching so fast it took Marcus and two of his people to keep up. We just spent two hours working out what it could all mean."

"Any conclusions?" Draco asked, sounding a good deal more animated than he had been only minutes earlier, but Harry couldn't see his face, so he didn't trust the tone completely.

"Water," Severus joined in obtusely, and then Harry did catch Draco's profile as he glanced quizzically at the fellow Slytherin.

"Plumbing to be more precise," Hermione added and expanded, "it runs through the entire place, and more importantly, it's vulnerable to doping."

"There is a waste tunnel into the kitchens, and from there we may place a potion into the water supply," the tag team of Slytherin and Gryffindor continued.

"And I suppose this potion has a purpose," Draco prompted, and Harry was rather glad he could hear confusion from his lover and that it wasn't just him.

"Transport from inside of the walls to outside of them," Hermione threw in what she seemed to regard as the icing on the cake.

Draco came to a halt and looked from Severus to Hermione and back again, the profile Harry could see from behind suggesting that he thought his companions were a spell short of a spellbook.

"Are you suggesting creating a potion to take every single Mud-, Muggle-born out of Azkaban at once?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, not quite all at once: there are a few details to work out," Hermione defended, her enthusiasm undiminished. "Which is why we've split the work up. Since you got top marks in your N.E.W.T., you're going to help us work on the potion. Others are working on cutting off communications from Azkaban so that they can't call for help, even if they notice, and some more are working on diversions to stop the rest of the Death Eaters from noticing that Azkaban aren't talking to them, and yet another group are finishing the transport network off the island, and -."

"Alright, I get the picture," Draco stopped the mind-dump before Hermione grew too carried away, and started walking again with, "Well, we had better get on with this potion then."

* * *

Harry knew he was just standing in the classroom for moral support, but no-one had suggested he leave, and the mother hen in him was still keeping an eye on Draco, so he stayed silent and watched the potions' connoisseurs do their job. There were ingredients and their jars littering the room, and several cauldrons bubbling away under the careful eye of the trio of over-achievers. Harry had not managed to keep up with the detail of the convoluted discussions that had been going on since his three companions had started listing the many and varied potions that partially met the complicated requirements of the Azkaban transport potion, but he had managed to follow that they were trying various options for efficacy and combinatorial properties. He was rather proud of the fact he'd managed to decipher even those facts, given that he thought his friends had begun to yabber in code (his advanced potions were extremely rusty). However, it had been a good hour since anyone had even spoken to him, so he was beginning to feel isolated and like a spare snitch at a Quidditch match.

Draco was completely absorbed by what he was doing: Harry could see that, and his concern had begun to mute. Other thoughts that maybe he could be of more use to one of the other teams had come to mind, and had focused on the diversions side of things. He remembered Ron's comments about 'being dead' and he wasn't naive enough to think that either he or Draco would be allowed to form part of the elite group that Hermione had said would be going to Azkaban to carry out the rescue, but their high-profile status could be a bonus when considering diversionary tactics. He was mulling over the fledgling idea when his companion's surprised him.

Harry jumped and sunk back onto his perch on a desk when a nasty smell was placed right under his nose. Draco was holding out an egg-cup sized beaker of greenish brown liquid, which was foaming slightly; Hermione was stood immediately behind him, both looking expectant, and Severus was behind them, his arms folded and grinning with the same look he had used when tormenting his pupil.

"Try it," Draco urged excitedly, pushing the container closer to Harry's nose.

"Why me?" Harry defended his stomach.

"Because you are precious little use to us otherwise," Severus cut back, his grin widening.

Draco clearly didn't have a problem with the potential poisoning, and Severus looked decidedly gleeful, so Harry glanced at his oldest friend for backup. However, the academics seemed to be in agreement on their choice of guinea pig and left Harry wishing he'd decided to be helpful elsewhere a good deal sooner. Faced with three expectant experimenters, reluctantly, he took the beaker and eyed the potion carefully.

"What's it supposed to do?" he stalled.

"Move you," Hermione answered.

"Where to?" he prevaricated again.

"It's a low dose," Draco responded impatiently, showing no sympathy at all, "just sideways a little way."

That made Harry feel so much better.

Harry had run out of questions, so he went for the fastest solution, he knocked back the shot of potion. It hit the back of his throat and went down: he retched and coughed and spluttered at its foul taste, his eyes watering and his stomach lurching in objection, but, as far as he could tell, nothing happened. However, Harry heard general sounds of approval from the rest of the room, and, as he opened his eyes, he realised he was not in the same position in which he had started, he was in fact a couple of feet to his left and halfway off his seat. Draco did have the decency to reach out and grab an arm when Harry's balance centres rebelled at being slid around and he nearly toppled the rest of the way off the desk, but his main attention seemed to be on the success of the potion.

"Right, that's a start," Draco told his fellow brewers, letting go of Harry as soon as an equilibrium had been reached and turning back to the other cauldrons. "I suggest dematerialisation next."

At that suggestion, Harry seriously considered running for it, however, his ego and the thought that Snape would never let him forget it just about out-weighed prudence.

"It'll be ready in five minutes," Hermione informed them, stirring a cauldron that was giving off yellow smoke.

Prudence rapidly overtook ego in the face of the evidence, and Harry stood up. However, his pride was saved by a timely entrance: Ron came striding into the classroom carrying a large, covered basket and greeted, "Evening. Mum sent supplies."

Even Severus looked interested at that announcement. Harry just watched when his companions descended on Ron like it had been days rather than hours since they'd eaten; his stomach would have been grumbling as well, but for the fact that it hadn't quite stopped lurching. Ron grinned at him as he pulled back the cloth over the basket to reveal many wax packets of sandwiches and several thermoses, and asked, "Mate, you alright, you look a bit green?"

"Nothing a cup of tea won't wash down," Draco explained unsympathetically, but he did at least grab two cups when Hermione began pouring from the thermos.

Harry took the cup he was offered with a grimace for the jibe, but swiftly and gratefully swilled out his mouth with the hot liquid. Draco grinned at him over his own cup, his eyes twinkling with mischief, and Harry had no doubt his lover knew exactly how unpleasant the potion had been. He still, however, did not go for any sandwiches, shaking his head as the basket was held out to him.

"You should have volunteered for the diversions meeting, Mate, we won't poison you," Ron joked, but one potion had been enough for Harry and he jumped in quickly, "How about I volunteer now?"

Ron looked like he might say yes, but his wife beat him to saying something as she objected, "Hey, you can't steal out guinea  
pig."

"Oh yes he can!" Harry countered. "Maybe you'll try for the neutral taste part next if you have to try your own concoctions."

With that, he put down his cup, took the thermos from Hermione's hand, placed it back in the basket and, grabbing Ron, made a hasty retreat. He heard laughter following them, but he still didn't look back in case the dematerialisation potion was ready!

* * *

Diversions proved to be a much more interesting meeting for Harry than the potion's development, mainly because he could make a valid contribution. Ginny and Ron were both involved as well, and Harry sunk his teeth into discussions of blowing up Death Eater Enforcer Stations and disrupting the Floo network. The idea was to come up with as many distractions for the power that be as possible, and some wild ideas were flying around. One idea that did keep surfacing in Harry's mind was the significant draw of attention that he and Draco could be. However, the young man resisted wording that thought in the open forum given the previous day's hysterics.

Late in the evening, one yawn too many made Ron, the group's unofficial leader, call a halt, and he, Ginny and Harry were the only members of the team left, collating pieces of paper upon which the many and varied ideas had been recorded, when they had a visitor. Albus Dumbledore had not attached himself to any particular team, but Harry had the feeling he'd been keeping an eye on all of them given his timely arrival. The old wizard looked for all the world like he had just wandered in out of idle curiosity, but a quick glance shared between the trio and Harry was sure everyone knew this was not a social visit.

"Evenin' Albus," Ron greeted.

"Good Evening, Ron, Ginny, Harry," Albus returned, inclining his head slowly. "A productive evening, I see."

"We have more ideas than we can handle," Ginny divulged, waving the large pile of paper in her hand. "Tomorrow, we begin sorting them out into practical and impractical."

"I have an impractical one," Harry blurted out as his idea occurred to him again and the more personal company made his tongue looser; the enquiring looks he was given from his friends, however, made him add, "Well you'll think it is anyway."

The looks just asked him to continue, but the frown that graced Ron's features at his extra quip made Harry's anxieties catch up with him, and he paused until Albus prompted, "You wish to share this proposal with us?"

"I 'spose I ought to share it with Draco first," Harry tried to cover the impulsive disclosure, but he knew he was looking shifty and now Ginny was frowning as well.

"This isn't another let's-go-give-ourselves-up idea is it?" the fiery young woman challenged, worry and anger in her voice.

"No!" Harry returned quickly and knew he was going to have to reveal more or risk being locked up again. "But I think the public interest in us could be useful."

"How?" Ron's suspicion was as strong as his sister's and his arms were folded as he waited for an answer.

"The Death Eaters would afford a great percentage of enforcers to any pursuance involving either yourself or Draco," Albus provided the reasoning before Harry could find a diplomatic way of saying it.

"Yes," the young man hooked gratefully on to the intervention, even if he was not sure of his mentor's current opinion of the conclusion.

"No!" Ginny objected hotly, clearly requiring no more details. "The risks are too high."

"No higher than anyone else," Harry defended, the molly-coddling beginning to annoy him again.

"On the contrary," Harry thought he was about to be admonished by Albus as well, but the old man surprised him with the pragmatic, "for such a considerable reward, the risks would be equally so."

Dumbledore was confusing Harry: he could not gauge whether his rock was for or against the suggestion, and he had the worrying suspicion that it could be both. He ignored his other friends in favour of trying to decipher the mixed messages, and he appealed to the pro side of Albus with, "Alright, maybe it would be dangerous, but half the country would be looking at us, not Azkaban."

"Only if they believed it was for real," Ron objected and stepped in front of Harry like he was trying to block a quaffle. "They know you're with us. If you suddenly pop up in public, they'll smell a rat."

"Not if we prepare the ground first," Harry argued, his heart pounding in his ears as the thoughts he'd been mulling over for hours came into focus.

"What did you have in mind?" Dumbledore enquired smoothly, the only calm person left in the room.

Harry glanced quickly at his two younger friends, acutely aware of their worried hostility, but their frowns could not stifle the need in him to be useful, and he bit the bullet with, "It's time I became a liability."

* * *

Harry lay in bed and stared at the dark ceiling, his thoughts whirling around and preventing sleep. Draco not being back yet was also a factor in the not-sleeping stakes, and the absence of his lover both at that moment, and when he had posed his plan to his friends was making him very guilty: he needed to confess. None of his friends had liked his idea much, but Albus had at least accepted that preparing the ground work was a prudent idea in case full execution was needed, and so a meeting had been organised with people whom Harry had deemed necessary. That meant Harry had practically volunteered both himself and Draco to be targets in a very dangerous game of tag, the details of which had yet to be discussed. However, from his reactions the day before, Harry had no doubt that Draco would be in favour of the plan: it was the preparations for any such chase that Harry was concerned would cause an argument.

Harry had been trying to work out how he was going to tell Draco his news for what seemed like hours when the door to their room suddenly opened. The guilty party jumped more than he should have, sitting up as he recognised the silhouette of his lover in the doorway. He grabbed his wand and flicked it to raise the lights, but Draco just put a hand over his eyes, walked to his side of the bed and fell face first into the mattress.

"How'd it go?" Harry asked blandly.

Without extracating his face from the pillows, Draco raised the arm nearest to Harry and waggled his hand from side to side in what Harry supposed was a 'so-so' expression. Harry was still trying to work out how to start in on the consequences of his own evening, so silence fell for a moment as he seriously considered waiting until the morning. However, the lethargy in his lover proved sporadic, because, shortly, Draco clearly thought better of his lack of communication: he lifted his head and, with a frustrated frown on his face, disclosed, "I need a wand."

"Problems?" Harry prompted, deciding to be a coward for the moment and focus on his companion's evening.

Draco propped himself up on his elbows and vented, "I can't get enough fine control without one. Hermione and Severus had to do most of the finishing spells on the potions because when I tried it was like using a sledgehammer to sew a hem." He thumped the pillow and snarled, "I used to be so precise."

"You can practice with mine, if you want," Harry offered, and was glad when the frown instantly cleared from Draco's brow.

However, Harry was taken by surprise as Draco swiftly sat up, and asked, "Really?"

He hadn't been expecting the urgency in his lover, but the way Draco eyed the holly in his hand hopefully, Harry knew that his offer was going to be taken up sooner rather than later. With a smile at the boyish excitement in his companion, Harry held out the wand and finished, "Really."

"Thank you," Draco pinned Harry into place for a moment with the earnestness in his words, and for the umpteenth time a lump came to Harry's throat as he realised the kind of selfish and lonely world in which Draco had been living.

Harry watched as Draco carefully took the magical instrument from his palm and held it reverently in front of him.

"Try something simple," Harry encouraged, picking up some of the excitement.

Draco took a deep breath; Harry held his.

"Lumos."

"Argh!" Harry complained and wrapped his head in his arms as his retinas rebelled at the intensity of the light which flooded the room, and then laughed, "I thought you were meant to have finer control with a wand."

When he had blinked away the bright spots, Harry found Draco looking at him, and it was obvious he'd ruffled a few feathers with the jibe.

"Well, it's been a long time," Draco defended himself with no little indignance.

Harry just shrugged and tried not to grin too widely. Draco chose to ignore his amusement and started looking around the room, something on the dresser became a target, and Harry watched the tip of his wand arc gracefully under his lover's direction. Draco had lost none of his flare since school, that much Harry appreciated, but he was given another demonstration that technique was not just about waggling a piece of wood when Draco cast Wingardium Leviosa and the biscuit tin flew off the chest of drawers like it was a bludger and smashed into the opposite wall. The tin bent, the lid flew off, and with a loud clatter it, and its contents hit the floor and scattered.

When Harry glanced at him, Draco's mouth was hanging open in disbelief, and it struck him as funny. He started to laugh again and even an offended stare from his companion would not stop him.

"This is not amusing," Draco complained.

He waggled the end of the wand at Harry, and suddenly it was indeed no longer amusing: the Auror in Harry sat up and took notice of the weapon being pointed at him, and he ducked sideways. He covered his lover's hand in his own and pointed the wand away from them both.

"Not at the body," he reminded the rusty practitioner of the etiquette that he had clearly forgotten, and was saddened by the embarrassed, crestfallen look that came over Draco.

Lovingly, Harry wrapped one arm around Draco's shoulders and hugged him close, suggesting, "Maybe we should just add this to the practice schedule."

Draco released the wand into Harry's hand and, with a nod, agreed, "Sorry."

"It's just going to take practice," Harry reassured, slipping into teacher mode. "Your magic levels have changed completely, so you're going to have to adjust what you were used to."

He kissed the unsure expression that was presented to him and then finished with a smile, "And there are plenty more biscuits where they came from."

Draco took a few moments to ease up, his pride had clearly taken a dent, but he did eventually relax and lean into Harry. Ready to just lay down and sleep as they were, Harry decided that his explanations could wait until the morning. Yet, Draco had other ideas, and before Harry could pull him down to the mattress, he asked, "So, how did diversions go?"

Harry tensed, Draco noticed and sat back, his gaze enquiring.

"What happened?" he prompted the guilt in Harry.

"I volunteered us to be decoys when the others raid Azkaban," he began in a rush.

Draco didn't look surprised, which made Harry feel a little better.

"You're a Gryffindor, I wouldn't have expected any less," Draco rolled his eyes and tried to lighten Harry's mood, but Harry's disquiet was getting the better of him, and it must have showed, because Draco corrected, "That's not it, is it?"

"Albus agreed that it was a good idea," Harry began, trying to bolster his point of view before he set off any alarm bells, "and that if we're needed that we have to lay some ground work for the Death Eaters not to smell a rat."

"I'm not going to like this ground work, am I?"

Harry looked directly at the concern that was now coming from Draco and decided to be honest: he shook his head.


	58. Putting the Pieces Together

Draco was still annoyed with him, the way in which he had locked him out of the bathroom that morning and hadn't spoken to him unless absolutely necessary had told Harry that much. However, his contrary companion had been glued to his side since they had left their room, and for that, Harry was grateful. They hadn't exactly fought over the plan, but when it came to the protective side of Draco Malfoy, he could be very dictatorial, and the fact that Harry had refused to back down from the idea had seen them eventually lie down to sleep back to back in silence. There had actually been very little sleeping on Harry's part, and neither had there been on Draco's either, if the little huffs and sighs had been anything to go by. Harry wasn't tired, though, in fact, as he and Draco walked, side by side, into Dumbledore's study, his nerves were jangling.

They were the first to arrive, and Albus stood to greet them, but Draco, it became swiftly apparent, was in no mood for pleasantries: he finally stepped away from Harry, strode over to the desk, and leaning on it, demanded of their host, "You think this is a good idea then?"

The ancient wizard looked at Draco's irate stance for a moment, then he glanced at Harry, who shifted feet and tried to look apologetic, and finally he returned his calm attention to his accuser.

"I find myself at a loss to discern a better one," he answered evenly.

The fact that Albus had not out-right backed the plan seemed to floor Draco, who ended up just glaring at him; Draco had spent quite a long time in the early hours trying to come up with alterative ground work, but he had also failed to 'discern' a plan where all the pieces were already plausibly in place.

"I see that we are of the same opinion," Dumbledore interpreted the look he was being given, and then both men turned to regard Harry.

"I didn't say I liked it, either," Harry defended himself, "no-one is going to like it, least of all the people who are about to walk through that door, and since two of the biggest brains around here can't come up with a better solution, I'd appreciate it if you'd back me on this."

"I believe that we, all three, are aware of the necessity of these arrangements, Harry, and I shall, as you say, back you," Albus answered, and set Harry's teeth on edge, because he could already here the, "but I shall not understate the peril into which this situation would place you and Draco both during its preparation and during its execution."

Harry glowered at his companions, digging his heels in: he would not be left on the sidelines, he would be as useful as he could be, and if that meant 'peril' then so be it.

"High risk, high reward," he clipped back.

There was no more time to argue, because a knock on the door gave entry to two uncomfortable companions. Gerald Hippus and Poppy Pomfrey, as far a Harry was aware, had not spoken since the day they had each given their opinions of him. Harry, at least, during his many visits there, had not seen the head-healer around the medibay, which is how he would have liked the situation to have stayed, had it not been for the discomfiting necessity that everyone was so edgy about. Poppy was clearly not happy in the company of the man she considered a quack, and the slightly surprised, but quickly protective look she laid on Harry when she saw him told her ex-patient that Albus had probably not given any explanation for the summons to his chambers.

"Poppy, Gerald, thank you for coming. If you would please be seated, we are awaiting one more party, and then I shall reveal the purpose of this gathering," their leader greeted and indicated to a broken horseshoe of chairs arranged in front of his desk.

The two healers took seats on opposite sides of the semi-circle, regarding each other. Harry and Draco remained standing for a while, Draco still leaning on Dumbledore' desk and regarding Harry heavily. However, with a glance from his mentor, Harry took a seat next to Poppy. He didn't want to be stubborn anymore, he wanted support, and so he sent his lover a look which appealed to the protective urges that were behind Draco's snit. It worked, at least partially, because, Draco backed down from his adversarial stance, even if he didn't look happy about it, and threw himself down in the chair beside Harry. Relieved, Harry showed his gratitude by placing his hand on his partner's leg, and he was glad when the gesture was not shrugged off. Poppy was looking at Albus, but Hippus noticed the touch and its implications. However, a dark, challenging glare from Harry was enough to make him drop his gaze. When the head-healer too looked up at their host, Harry found a hand covering his: he glanced at Draco, but his companion was showing no sign of the affection of his touch in his face, instead he was also watching Dumbledore. The mixed message was good enough for Harry, who, as he began to feel better about things, flipped his palm and entwined his fingers with Draco's.

The next few minutes involved offers of tea and polite refusals, which didn't stop Albus brewing up a pot anyway, and he was taking his first sip when the knock everyone had been expecting interrupted the silence. Harry started, but not because of the sound, but because Draco snatched his hand away. His face was hard when Harry looked past him to the door, and the young man just hoped that the animosity he saw would not disrail the meeting.

"Come in," Dumbledore called.

Ron opened the door, but his charge barged past him and planted himself in the middle of the room. His body language left no doubt that he was unimpressed with the summons, but then his words revealed a little more insecurity as he observed, "Well, isn't this cosy, the psychotics and their healers; what is this, some kind of slap on the wrist for upsetting the status quo?"

"No, Mr Llewellyn," Albus Dumbledore reigned in his authority and left their newest arrival with his mouth open and the rest of his speech unsaid. "This is a discussion of plans for breaking the prisoners out of Azkaban, and you have been invited here because you may play a vital part in those preparations. Please, sit."

Richard sat.

"Thank you," their host finished, and nodded at Ron, who closed the door and took the final seat between Llewellyn and Draco.

Harry was glad that Albus had decided to lead this meeting: he'd done his best with his friends the previous evening, but he knew he was not a great orator, and he doubted that he could have summed up his own ramblings anywhere near as succinctly, or with the same authority as his rock had just done. However, he was very aware he had to make a good, professional impression, or, even with the great Albus Dumbledore behind him, this plan was going to go nowhere, so he sat straighter in his chair and put on the formal mask he'd used for the we-need-your-money speeches in the States.

Their host looked around at each of them, slowly and with deliberation, the hospitable old man and offers of tea deposed in favour of the powerful wizard who had orchestrated every defence that had been raised against Voldemort, and then he began, "There are many aspects to the plans being currently formulated, and one such part is that in order to draw attention away from Azkaban, Harry and Draco would act as decoys."

Ron frowned and crossed his arms, but said nothing, he had made his objections the night before. Llewellyn just looked around suspiciously at everyone, but both Poppy and Gerald were ready with objections. Their noises were not unexpected, a mixture of objections to fitness and also danger. However, Albus held up his hand for silence, and the pair of healers finished staring at each other with very similar expressions on their faces.

"Your reservations are understandable, and may I say that they are mutual. However, this meeting is neither to determine the risk, nor to decide whether that risk is acceptable: these decisions will be made closer to the time. For now, whether Harry and Draco are to eventually become our decoys or not, I have spoken with Madame Bones and we are in agreement that preparations should be made, irrespective of future decisions. To that end, our preparations must be to establish a credible reason why Harry and Draco would be outside our protection."

Dumbledore paused, giving everyone time to consider what had been said, and Harry enough time to decide how he was going to explain his idea. He was expecting the glance which passed the attention to him, and with universally disquiet gazes on him, he chose to be blunt.

"I'm going to pretend to go crazy," he announced quickly, "crazy enough that I pose a danger to Hogwarts Tutus and need to be moved."

The silence was not what Harry was expecting: yelling, objections, but not stunned, unhappy silence; he shifted in his chair, but looked round at everyone, trying to make sure they saw how serious he was. He also was surprised by the person who spoke first.

"And how do you intend to pretend?" Gerald challenged, his brow deeply creased and his concern obvious.

"I don't know exactly yet," Harry couldn't help it as he snapped defensively at he questioner; he had hoped never to have to be in the same room with the head-healer again, but his experience was vital, and so the young man sat on his distrust and explained, "That is why you're here. I need advice on how to act mad."

Gerald sat up straight and his eyes went wide, but he said nothing for a moment, and Harry held his breath. The fact that the healer had not thrown an instant dismissal was some hope, but the shock in his manner did not bode well. Hippus eventually looked at Dumbledore, who nodded his consent to the proceedings, and then Harry saw thought come back behind the other man's eyes.

"Harry, do you know how dangerous this could be for you personally?" Gerald asked and caught Harry out; he didn't really understand the question, and so he shook his head and waited. "An unbalanced mind is not something to be copied lightly. There is a fine line between acting mad, as you put it, and being truly troubled. When was your last brainstorm?"

Harry didn't want to have this kind of conversation in front of Llewellyn, or the hostility of his friends, and it was his turn to sit up stiffly. However, Gerald had that earnest, I-know-best look in his eyes, and no-one interrupted his concern. For all of a split second, Harry considered lying, his defences wanting to brag this one out, but he couldn't, the words would not make sense. He looked away from the healer, feeling the vulnerability and worry that such events always left him with as he admitted, "Day before yesterday."

It had only been a minor incident, a thick green line on a picture Aithne had been drawing, and no-one except the child had noticed his momentary start, but the suggestion of Vipera made his heart beat faster even in a memory's memory.

"You are still dealing with the trauma of torture," Gerald continued, and a little indignation at having someone point out the obvious brought Harry's head backup. Yet, he remained silent as he was told, "To test the remarkable strength of mind that has brought you this far would be to risk a breakdown."

Harry had expected objections to how he planned to demonstrate the breakdown to the base at large, and the risks involved in that, not to the mere proposal of play-acting. He'd been thinking much more along practical lines, but the way in which everyone was looking at him now, it finally dawned on him that they had not. Even Draco was showing concern, and some of his comments that had passed Harry by the night before, began to make more sense. Doubt came along with the sense.

"Then I'll need you to help me walk that fine line," the young man countered the disquiet in front of him and within. "I don't intend on going mad. A few demonstrations, enough to get people talking and the rest of the time, I'll keep a low profile."

"You think local gossip is going to convince the Death Eaters that the Resistance wants to get rid of you?" Llewellyn scoffed.

"No," Harry answered, and his tone stopped the derision dead; Richard was a better focus than his own worries and so he told him clearly, "that's why it has to be me, because I have an enemy who hates me enough to use me as a bargaining chip."

"No," the resistance fighter objected immediately, standing up, and Harry was shocked by the horror he saw in his adversary's face. "I don't hate you, and even if I did, everyone who knows me knows I hate them more."

"Not if I give you some more ammunition," Harry also stood, facing down the disgust in Richard; he still didn't like the man, but the abject repulsion of the idea in his eyes earned Richard Llewellyn some respect, and he used it to temper his words as he tried to explain his reasoning with, "All the pieces fit this way. You'll be the reason I snap and I'll give you plenty of reasons to want me out of the way. Take into account," Harry paused as he remembered the wreck of a man he had seen two days ago, but the idea had to be aired, and he pressed on, "take into account that Jenny is now in imminent danger because of me, and we have a reason for you to step over the line and bargain for her release."

Richard sat down again, hard, clearly appalled by the suggestions being made, but hurt by the mention of his wife.

"How dare you bring her into this," he charged, and Harry felt for his pain, even as he didn't want to.

"I'm sorry," he admitted openly.

"Sorry?" Llewellyn growled, pushing himself off his seat again and coming chest to chest with Harry. "If you're so bloody sorry, why don't you go do the right thing in the first place?"

"Giving up Harry and Draco will not save your wife, nor the rest of the prisoners in Azkaban," Albus sliced through the heat of the moment with the ice-cold observation, and then stepped around his desk into the confrontation. "Such an act would condemn this nation to centuries of darkness. We stand on the cusp of our destruction. To prevent that we must all make sacrifices."

This time Harry sat down first, stood over by his leader, but Richard soon followed and they both ended up staring up at the impressive old wizard. To be told of the threat their world was under in such stark terms chilled the young Auror to the bone, and any doubt about his actions paled into nothing in comparison. The strength in Albus Dumbledore demanded everyone's attention; Harry's emotions conflicted as he admired that power, but at the same time understood the burden of it: he knew what it was like to carry the hopes of a nation, and that responsibility weighed heavily in his rock's eyes as he gazed steadily back at the stunned company.

"I apologise if my words seem harsh," the old man settled a little, just enough so that Harry heard breathing start again among his companions, "but this is the reality which we must manage. I am asking you, Mr Llewellyn, to place yourself in jeopardy in order that the Death Eaters should hear the story I wish them to. The difference between belief and disbelief in our presentation of events could mean the difference between the rescue from Azkaban progressing unhindered, or all our people and the prisoners being killed during the attempt. Will you help?"

Llewellyn looked like he was about to be sick: he had gone deathly pale and his expression showed the impact of every one of Albus' carefully chosen words. Harry was feeling winded himself, and he wasn't really ready for the gaze that came his way: the animosity was still burning behind Richard's eyes, but it was not the pointless hatred that had led to the nasty teasing. Harry knew he was still being blamed for the worries of the world, and some of the new pain that this meeting had piled onto his adversary, but he also saw their reality making sense to the man and he stared passively back, waiting for it to come forward.

"What do you need me to do?" Llewellyn finally agreed.

* * *

Harry looked down at his food and poked it from one side of the plate to the other, and hoped that his nerves would later be interpreted by anyone watching as the beginnings of his breakdown. Everything was in place: he'd spoken at length with Gerald to get ready for the public breakdown; Richard and he had practised the duel; Poppy and Ron and Draco were ready to react. Yet Harry's thoughts were scattered all over the place. It had only taken a few hours to prepare, and it was all happening so quickly that the young man couldn't help thinking that they must have missed something.

"Are you alright?" Draco interrupted his mêlée.

Harry glanced up and there was a smile, a little sad around the edges, looking at him.

"Ask me later," he replied, and took strength from the fact that Draco had stopped being angry and was just offering his support.

There wasn't time for any further discussion, because, on time, Richard and a group of his friends walked into the mess. Harry didn't see them, he was sat facing away from the door, but he heard the small, puppy-like bark and sniggers from the entrants. He didn't turn around, but anyone looking at his face would see his scowl, and no-one could fail to notice the tension in his stance, which was nothing to do with acting. Draco's glare over his shoulder was protective and dangerous, and also all to do with natural instincts, not prepared script. Harry laid a hand on his arm and shook his head, this time, to the script.

Harry heard his adversaries sit down and a house elf went scampering over to their table. Harry looked down at his supper and laid down his fork, glad he didn't have to pretend to have an appetite anymore.

"Mum actually asked us to baby-sit tomorrow," he picked on any piece of trivia he could, and grabbed his companion's attention. "She must be warming to you."

"Hmm," was the only response from Draco, and his eyes were still on Llewellyn's party, and narrowing further with every second.

"Draco, ignore them," Harry urged, partly in line with the script and partly worried that things were going to go horribly wrong if Draco lost his temper: things had been hostile, even when discussing the plan with Richard, and, given the stress he had been under in the last few days, Harry was beginning to wonder if involving his erratic lover had been a good idea.

Harry's logic and his trust in Draco sat on that thought before it had really formed. He was glad he had such a protector, and he reminded himself that Draco's controls were probably better than his own. This was important, no-one was going to mess it up, least of all Draco, and Harry reminded himself that he couldn't always see behind the shields that his lover raised when doing what had to be done.

A high-pitched yip came at his back, and, nervous anyway, Harry started. That was treated to louder laughter and another, self-amused woof. Harry turned in his seat and glared. Llewellyn's cronies continued to snigger and the man himself snarled like a puppy and then yipped a few more times. People were already shifting their seats out of line when Harry threatened his opponent, "Didn't you have enough of that last time?"

Richard's gaze hardened, even as he held a smile on his lips, and threatened right back, "Not so many little friends to back you up today, Potter."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't need anyone to hide behind," Harry growled, feeling his temper respond to the taunt, even though he had known something like it would be coming.

"Then why are you still here, coward?" Llewellyn's tack suddenly got harder and he stood up.

His opponent's eyes were blazing, and Harry began to wonder if all their tempers were running too high for this play to work. Harry stood up in tandem with Richard and crossed his hands in front of him. Someone less observant may not have noticed that the move gave him access to where his wand was carefully stowed, but Llewellyn noticed, his eyes flicked to the movement, even though Harry had not been explicit about how they were going to enter the duel.

"Don't judge things you don't understand," Harry warned, his hackles rising as he felt the room swing in favour of his adversary, or maybe it was just his guilt that coloured his view of the looks that were on him.

"I understand it very well," Richard countered, his face beginning to go red, and his eyes were glistening. "Two of you, too many of them. How can you live with yourself?"

Harry didn't reply to that: he wasn't supposed to, but there was also a personal accusation lying under the script that he felt more deeply than he should have. Llewellyn took full advantage of the silence, and it didn't matter that he was meant to. Harry had to grit his teeth and stamp on his emotions when the man attacked him with, "What's the matter, don't want to visit with old Voldie again?"

That created some murmuring among their witnesses, but Harry didn't try and decipher for and against: all his preparations came to nothing as that comment cut as if he hadn't known it was coming. He heard Draco stand up behind him, but he held out a hand to stop any intervention. He was angry, personally angry, and he wanted his accuser to understand that. However, Llewellyn was moving faster than Harry and he sliced at his ego again with, "Is the little doggie afraid of his master?"

"I am not a dog," Harry returned, his tone eerily calm, even to his own ears and his words fell into stony silence.

Whether they knew it consciously, or not, the whole room had registered the change in Harry, even Llewellyn, whose mouth stopped moving. Harry wasn't sure if he had really snapped, as Hippus had predicted, it felt very strange as he stared down his opponent, his emotions on the issue were very raw, even though they should have been muted. He wasn't as good at the self-protection as Draco, and his defiance of his captors began to rise into the open wounds his defences had left vulnerable.

"Don't call me that," he decided that he was still sane when he followed the script, and, in one fluid movement, took a step towards Richard and drew his wand.

"Touched a nerve, have I?" Llewellyn tried to sound confident, but having a wand pointed at your heart would make any man nervous: not nervous enough, however, to stop him continuing where they planned to go, "No, you're not a dog, you're just a pup!"

"Harry," Draco tried to get his attention, his tone holding just the right amount of caution to make everyone around them very uncomfortable.

Of course, Harry ignored his companion in favour of taking another couple of steps towards his opponent, his aim never wavering.

"How dare you?!" Harry snarled, his voice losing its cool edge. "You can't possibly know anything about this. You think your wife is a special case, because of her the Dark Lord gets his way?"

Harry thought he saw the same kind of shock in Richard's eyes as he had felt when the practised jibe had hit nearer home than intended. Llewellyn drew his wand and finally the two men faced each other in open combat.

"You're a coward, Potter," Richard cut again with far less decorum than before. "You're not fit to talk about her. You think a few weeks in a dungeon make up for three years on the run?"

"It was a tower!" Harry yelled back, and he knew his control was slipping as he charged, "It was Gryffindor Tower, and you have no idea what they did to me there."

"Aw, does the doggie want to cry 'cause his master beat him?" the final straw was delivered, and, on cue, Harry exploded.

He cast a blasting hex and it exploded just in front of his adversary, sending him sailing backwards onto the table.

"Don't mock me!" he screamed. "You want to understand what it was like?!"

The incisum curse sliced through fabric and flesh on the half-prostrate man and Richard cried out.

"Over and over again!" Harry yelled and cast again; Llewellyn's shirt and chest suffered this time.

Someone tried to grab him from behind, but it was Draco, and Harry shoved him backwards. His lover fell away, landing in more of a heap than Harry had intended, but he did not have time to check that Draco was alright. Richard took the opportunity to send a spell back at him. He wasn't sure what it was, but a general deflection took care of it and yellow sparks hit the wall. Llewellyn's friends were on their feet now, and their wands were drawn, but Harry quickly dealt with the lot of them with an almighty sweep of Stupefacio. Richard was clearly shocked by the ease of the removal, and scrabbled to get into a sitting position, but Harry hit him with an impact curse and sent him sprawling back onto the table. He followed it with magical ropes and his adversary became his victim as Llewellyn dropped his wand and began to struggle.

Harry raised his wand over the bound man, his anger almost out-weighing the preparations, but he did manage to pause. It was enough time for a voice to yell at him, "Harry, no!"

It was Ron, and with relief, Harry turned away from his captive. The shock he showed his friend was real, and his hand dropped to his side. Yet he held onto his wand, the hours of torture keeping him defensive.

"Mate, put down the wand," Ron began, trying to look calm as he entered the room properly.

Harry looked down at his hand in the lost way that Gerald had suggested. Confusion easily replaced anger and he lifted his weapon closer to his face again. He laughed, the same kind of sound he remembered from the dark days in his cell, the laugh of a man at the end of his tether. He wasn't mad this time, either, but it made him shiver, even if he produced it voluntarily.

"Put your wand on the floor," Ron tried again, his hands held out to Harry.

Harry looked at his friend and then at Llewellyn and then quickly back again and he let the pain of what he had planned to do substitute for a man realising what he had been about to do. He didn't quite know where to go from here. The script said it would take a little longer for Ron to coax the wand away from him, but his instincts told him not to give up his only defence. It was difficult to fight the instincts of the prisoner that this orchestration had brought out, but he hung on to the need to retaliate, focusing on Ron, who was looking worried. Harry heard the stunner come from an unexpected direction, and he heard Draco yell, "No!" but it was too late. He had turned towards the sound, and laid eyes on a stranger and then the woman's spell hit him.

* * *

Harry woke up with the confrontation in the front of his mind: he sat up rapidly with a growl of defiance on his lips. A shadow close by backed rapidly away from him, but someone else took hold of his shoulders and Poppy's calm voice brought him back into himself with, "Easy, Harry."

The young man relaxed as his brain caught up with his instincts, and blinked first at the frowning visage of his healer and then over her shoulder at a nervous-looking nurse.

"Thank you, Nurse Pruley," Poppy also glanced over her shoulder and dismissed the second stranger.

Harry watched the young woman go, and knew, at least with someone, the demonstration had worked. It would be all round the base by now, 'Harry Potter had lost it', he smiled, not a happy gesture, but a satisfied one.

"Harry, are you alright?" Poppy returned her attention to him, and her concern was real.

"I wasn't expecting the stunner," Harry diverted the conversation and then, seeing his healer's look, thought better of it and answered, "It was a bit more extreme than I'd bargained for, but, yes, thank you, I'm fine."

"Alright," Poppy seemed satisfied, and let him go to sit up on the bed by himself. "Then, Gerald is waiting outside, along with very worried friends of yours."

At that admission, Harry wished he could bring all his friends, who hadn't been told the details, into the room and explain there and then, but he knew Gerald was going to have to be first to keep up appearances.

"Lets see how fast I can get rid of him, then," Harry tried to sound upbeat, but his guilt had to have been obvious.

Poppy smiled at his attempt, and her sympathy urged him to ask, "Can you tell them, I don't want Molly worrying."

"I don't think that would be prudent, there are two many eyes and ears outside this room," the healer answered, her smile disappearing.

Harry just nodded: it would be stupid to risk the plan for half an hour's delay, but the thought of Molly wringing her apron anxiously for even the minutes it had to have been since he'd been stupefied, hit all the wrong buttons in him.

"I'll make a big scene and demand Healer Hippus spend only the minimum amount of time with you," Poppy offered and patted his hand.

"Thank you," he finished and then the woman turned away.

As the door closed behind his healer, Harry looked around the room: it was smaller than the ones he had stayed in before, and, importantly, it had no windows, but the furniture was familiar, bed, cabinet and there was a chair waiting for any visitors. In equally familiar fashion, Harry adjusted his pillows and leant back into them, but then thought better of the semi-recumbent pose, in case anyone was peaking through the door during an entry. He loosened the covers, drew his pyjama-covered legs up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his knees. Then he waited.

* * *

A polite rap on the door finally alerted Harry to a visitor. He didn't reply, and, after a moment, tentatively the door was opened. Hippus face went from calm to concerned when he laid eyes on Harry's hunched form, but Harry gave him no respite from it until the door was firmly closed. Then, Harry decided it was time to demonstrate his sanity, and he began, "So, how long are you planning this 'examination' to take?"

Gerald showed his surprise at the suddenly lucid patient: Harry smiled at him, indicated to the chair and relaxed into a much more comfortable position.

"Don't say I had you fooled as well?" Harry goaded, needing to break any thought this fool had of actually assessing him; he would never allow that again.

"I have already made my concerns known," Gerald did not take the bate, he just frowned at Harry as he sat down. "The risks you are taking are enormous."

"Yes, well, objections aside, how about we just try and be polite to each other for half an hour, shall we?" Harry condescended.

"Harry, I have every intention of conducting a proper interview," Hippus told him sincerely, and took out his note book.

"Not a cat's chance in hell," Harry snapped back and brought his knees back up to his chin.

"You are very agitated, Harry," the healer began.

"Might have something to do with what you did to me last time you conducted an interview," Harry objected quickly, the unpleasant memory of memories unsettling him even further.

"I may only apologise again for my error," Hippus continued, annoyingly unruffled, "and ask you to accept that it is not merely our past relationship which is affecting your emotions."

Harry glared at him, but the man just blinked back, his lips slightly pursed and a neutral look in his eyes. The silence was as uncomfortable as the argument, so Harry snarked, "What do you expect me to say, that it wasn't nice attacking Llewellyn, well it wasn't."

"Did you expect it to be easy?" Gerald was equally annoying when he picked up the objection like it was a place to start.

"Of course not," Harry growled and looked away, resting his chin on his knees. "I'm not an idiot."

"No, that you aren't," Gerald agreed, and noted something on his pad, "but you are human. I have already spoken to Mr Llewellyn, and he is somewhat shocked by the turn of events. It is not a weakness to admit that maybe things went further than you expected."

It damn well was a weakness, one this man would use to try and stop him going forward with the plan, Harry knew that much, and with another glare he lied, "Things went just the way we planned them."

Gerald looked disappointed and he dropped his hands and his notebook into his lap.

"Harry," he began, his tone slipping up into the superior, patient, healer-knows-best one that set Harry's teeth on edge.

"Don't start with me, Healer Hippus," Harry warned, in no mood for niceties.

"Harry, we are stuck with each other for at least the next thirty minutes," Hippus sighed, but his tone dropped back to normal levels. "We may at least make constructive use of the time we have. I have grave doubts about this plan of action, but I will not stand in its way unless you give me reason."

That surprised Harry, and the satisfied smile that Gerald sent back at him said that the other man had seen his reaction. He remained silent just that little too long, and Gerald added, "Honesty will make me far more willing to accept that you are coping adequately."

The small piece of blackmail frustrated Harry, but it also impressed him: Gerald wasn't spineless. He met the man on his own terms as he looked into the enquiry that was left on Hippus' face and agreed, "Depends what you mean by constructive."

Gerald inclined his head in acknowledgement of the ceasefire and smiled.

* * *

"I'm not planning on making many public appearances," Harry shrugged, their conversation having turned to the practical side of things.

"When you do, don't overplay it," Gerald advised. "You don't have to act differently all the time. In fact, it will be more convincing if you are normal some of the time. When you wish to give the impression that you are finding things difficult, avoid eye-contact and rely on Draco to be a barrier between you and everyone else."

"More cotton-wool," Harry objected, but not too strongly, with the term he had found for the way it appeared everyone wanted to treat him.

"More cotton-wool," Hippus agreed, but his face was serious as he reminded Harry for the umpteenth time, "but even that will not be easy. It will be a strain to act abnormally."

"I can handle it," the young man returned, and he put a warning into his tone not to push too far: he hadn't yelled in a good ten minutes, but his relationship with Gerald was never going to be plain sailing again.

Hippus pursed his lips and looked like he was not going to take the hint, but before he could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Instantly, Harry shifted out of the comfortable reclining position he had regained during the interview, and tucked his legs back in front of his body. He then nodded to Gerald, who called, "Come in."

It was Poppy, and when the door closed behind her, Harry relaxed again. She walked further into the room and told them, "It has been forty minutes, and Madame Weasley Senior is becoming agitated."

Thankfully for Harry, Gerald stood up, and announced, "Then I must be leaving."

Harry nodded to him, the most he could offer in politeness. However, Hippus was not quite finished, and he continued, "I am going to recommend that until this affair is over, we meet daily, Harry."

"No way!" he protested.

However, the healer was ahead of him and continued, "It would be consistent with the breakdown that you are purported to have suffered, and would give me the opportunity to keep an eye on the strain this act is putting on you."

"What do you think, Poppy?" Harry appealed to the dislike of Gerald he knew was in his other healer, but instead, he found silence.

When he looked properly, Harry saw conflict in Pomfrey's face.

"You can't be agreeing with him?" he challenged.

"I may only be seen to be providing medicines," Poppy explained, "this is not my field, and any greater involvement may arouse suspicion. I would be happier if someone were to monitor your progress."

"I am not ill," Harry objected again, "I'm just pretending."

"Even so, I must concur with Healer Hippus," Madame Pomfrey betrayed him with a finality which made Harry scowl, but which he did not challenge; he satisfied himself with the thought that he'd make Hippus' life hell during their meetings.

"Alright, if we are agreed, then I shall tell your friends that I have medicated you and that you are up to visitors. You my wish to act a little dozy when I open the door," Poppy told him, and then she and Gerald turned to go.

Harry lay back in the pillows and closed his eyes: he had a headache and the pause was welcome anyway.

* * *

When the door opened again, Harry resisted the urge to open his eyes again immediately, even when he heard the unhappy murmur from Molly. He waited until the moving of bodies had finished and the door closed. Slowly, just in case someone he wasn't expecting was present, Harry then took notice of his visitors. The first person his gaze sought out was his adopted mother, and the tear-streaks on her cheeks was enough to snap him out of any pretence. He sat forward quickly, and, holding out his arms to her, he assured in a rush, "Mum, it's alright, it was a set up."

Molly bustled over to him, tears flowing and he wrapped her in a hug, pulling her down onto the bed beside him.

"Oh, Boy," she sobbed, and pushed out of his hold and began quite aggressively to stroke his hair.

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before," he met the hurt in her face, "but the fewer people who knew the better."

Ron came up behind his mother, holding very tightly on to Hermione, who was looking incredibly relieved, and Remus had Minerva's hand.

"What kind of game are you playing?" Minerva scolded.

"A dangerous, but necessary one," Draco made his presence known, and he sat down on the end of the bed, drawing attention away from Harry for one relieving moment.

"Only if you two play decoy during the Azkaban raid," Ginny made clear with her stance and tone that she still held the objections she had made the evening before.

"That is what this is about?" Remus sat Minerva down and then seemed to come down the same side of the fence as Ginny.

"Well you're not going to let us join in the raid, are you?" Draco, it became apparent, had had enough of the arguing on this matter.

The look on the older man's face said that the presumption for this whole escapade was indeed correct.

"There you go then, we want to be useful, and Harry, in that heroic brain of his, came up with this," Draco returned, not letting Harry off the hook completely when it came to his opinion of playing mad.

"What on earth is this?" Molly asked, her face hardening, even as she put a pincer-like hold on Harry's hand and another palm on the side of his face.

"A reason to transfer me out of Hogwarts Tutus and a person to tell the Death Eaters about it," Harry explained.

"Llewelyn is going to drip feed them the information and people will talk anyway, so there will be rumours that get outside this base to back him up. On the day of transfer, I am going to find out I'm not going with Harry, and we are going to escape," Draco continued the brief reasoning.

"And the Welsh git is going to spill everything," Ron added.

"That Welsh git is risking his life for us," Harry found himself saying before he stopped himself, and was given a wide-eyed look from Ron; he shrugged apologetically for the defence he had not thought he would ever make and continued, "Every Death Eater in Britain will be looking for us, and we can pop up just in time to divert attention from Azkaban."

"That sounds awfully risky," Arthur spoke for the first time with his usual form of understatement.

"And trying to transport hundreds of people out of Azkaban without the Death Eaters noticing is going to be a walk in the park, I suppose," Draco resorted to sarcasm, and Harry thought he made the point very well.

"So what happens now?" Remus decided to ask the sensible question.


	59. Elemental Fear

Harry sat in Arthur's rocking chair, a twin under each arm and a book of fairy stories on his lap. Molly was bustling away in the kitchen and the smells of her baking were making Harry's stomach rumble, but he wasn't about to mention that, he didn't have much appetite anyway. Harry read the story slowly to his attentive charges, slow enough that his mind could wander somewhat, and it was in fact wandering over the reason he wasn't eating enough. It had been four days since the whole base had found out that Harry Potter was a lunatic. He hadn't been out in public much since, a couple of dinners in the mess and a visit to the gym, but even those and simple trips around the base had taken their toll.

Harry hated it when Gerald was right, but he had come to realise that he was risking his sanity by playing crazy: the thoughts, that bubbled to the surface when he wanted to convince the world that all was not right, were nasty, and in the last couple of nights he hadn't even managed the few hours sleep that he had managed since finding comfort with Draco. Harry was tired and grumpy, which meant Draco was tired and grumpy, and coupled with the fact he was acting like Harry might break at any second, which sometimes felt to Harry like he was being patronised, their relationship was a little strained. Still, Draco was nearly always there to add his strength when Harry's ran out, and if he wasn't there, it was one of his other friends or family. After the initial shock, for which he hadn't been completely forgiven, everyone had rallied round and was doing their stints as Harry's companion. Never being alone was also wearing thin, but Harry was trying to remember that it was better than being in the infirmary, which would have been the only other alternative for someone whom the base had decided was having paranoid delusions.

If it hadn't been for the fact that Aithne kept wriggling every time he paused, Harry would probably have dozed off in front of the warm fire. As it was, he wasn't sure he was following the story of dragons and princesses and daring do, but he was managing to read it. It felt safe and comfortable in the close company of the innocents: they were completely unaware that Uncle Harry was supposed to be nuts, and his thoughts mused around his plan without being too heavy.

Things were going well. Dumbledore had informed him the day after their first incident that Richard had made some loud comments in a public bar which, given their negative tone, had gained him some drinking partners, and information had begun to flow. Rumours had made it outside of the base as well and had backed up their mole's story of being beaten up by a madman. Harry had been through the whole 'crazy' thing before, during his dreadful fifth year at Hogwarts, and he recognised the looks people were giving him now, sympathy tinged with wariness, but this time, they were a positive sign.

Harry had nearly nodded off again, because Aithne, in response, started to move, but it was not the child that brought him out of his stupor, but a knock on the door. Molly had made the sacrifice of actually closing her front door when her adoptive son was in residence for the sake of his privacy, and opening it meant the act had to go in place, just in case there were curious eyes watching.

"Just a minute," Molly called, sharing a glance with Harry, and, reluctantly, he encouraged the girls to get down.

They complained, but Molly beckoned with biscuits, and so Harry was alone by the fire in a couple of seconds. He pulled up a blanket over his legs that had been left lying on the ground and took up flame-staring.

"Come in," Molly invited.

Draco opened the door and made way for Hermione, much to her children's delight. Harry saw them out of the corner of his eye, but he did not look up until he heard the door close once more, then he turned to the visitors properly. He instantly smirked at what he saw: they both had soot marks on their faces, and their clothes were a mess.

"What happened to you?" he asked with a laugh in his voice.

"Potion blew up," Draco scowled at him.

"Someone let the fire get too hot," Hermione added and rolled her eyes in his lover's direction in between planting a hello kiss of each of her daughters' heads.

"At least I didn't add the crowsfoot when I should have added the duckbill," Draco fired back, but his annoyance was tinged with amusement; Harry was pleased, it sounded like it had been a good day.

"So, is it ready?" the light banter gave him the confidence to ask.

"Almost," Hermione answered, her face lighting up. "We're still working on the neutral taste side of things, but we're nearly there."

"And the activation spell is not quite tied in yet, but another day or so and it should be ready to go," Draco joined in proudly.

Harry was happy for his friends, they had been spending long hours working on the potion while others organised the raid. However, the fact that things were almost ready to go meant it was time for an escalation in Harry's psychosis, which he had been discussing with Albus, but had not mentioned yet to Draco. It was probably going to mean a fight. Harry decided not to destroy the sense of achievement with an argument, but he stored the thought away for later when he and Draco were alone.

"So what have you been doing all day?" Draco jibed lightly, wandering over and leaning on the back of the chair over Harry.

Harry put his head back and smiled up at his lover, glad for the protective look that was sitting at the back of those grey-blue eyes.

"Apart from nearly decking Hippus, nothing much," he answered with a movement of his shoulders that was supposed to be a lazy shrug.

"You didn't mention that when he dropped you off," Molly tutted, and her hands were on her hips when Harry glanced over at her.

He was disappointed with himself when he frowned back, he hadn't meant to focus on the throwaway information, but the feeling that went with it came out in his tone as he told them, "He was going on about meditation stones again."

"Does he never learn?" Draco snapped instantly, and all ease was gone as he stood straight and gesticulated.

"He's not going to be doing it again," Harry soothed, reaching out and grabbing Draco by the sleeve.

His partner came back to him with just a small pull, and Harry brought him round in front of his chair this time, making sure he had his whole attention.

"I resisted hitting him, but I beheaded his petunia with a paper knife and he shut up," he explained, letting a smile onto his lips as he remembered with satisfaction the look of shock on his healer's face; Draco wasn't smiling, however, and so he added with a wink, "I also think he'll be removing any sharp objects from his office."

Yet the worry that Draco's protective instincts became when things grew more serious had beaten Harry's humour, so he straightened and defended, "I didn't go off on one, I promise. He just needed reminding that he should leave well alone."

Draco didn't look like he was going to stop worrying anytime soon now that he had begun, so Harry stood up, took him by the hand and decided, "Come on, let's go home, get you cleaned up and do some training."

The move had been designed to divert Draco, but other people in the room stopped him from heading to the door immediately.

"And where do you think you're going, Young Man?" Molly interrupted.

When Harry turned to her, her hands were still on her hips and her eyebrows were raised, but then she raised a finger to her cheek and stuck out that side of her face. Harry grinned, the twins giggled and Harry was almost sure Hermione and Draco were sharing a look by the way his female friend was glancing over his shoulder at Draco. Putting aside everything for a moment of mother-son affection, Harry let go of Draco's hand and walked over to Molly. He did more than peck her on the cheek as indicated, her wrapped her in a hug and then planted the kiss and, drawing back from the touch of lips, but not the hug, he told her, "Thanks for sitting me, Mum."

Molly's cheeks tinged pink at his overt affection, but she was smiling, and in acceptance of his gratitude, she reached up and ruffled his hair.

"Be off with you," she dismissed, and Harry let go, giving her a winning smile.

However, before he could turn away, Molly reached out to her flour-covered table and picked up a tin. Harry's smile grew wider as she handed it over.

"Cheese straws, sandwiches and some biscuits," she told him with the tone that she used when commenting on the fact that he hadn't gained back all the weight she would have liked. "Take the night off and eat properly."

"Yes, Mum," Harry rolled his eyes, but appreciated the gesture (he didn't eat much at all when he was the floor-show in the mess).

"I'll make sure he does," Draco agreed, and Harry was surprised to find him by his side.

Draco and Molly in proximity was unusual, they tolerated each other, but were not on more that polite terms; Draco and Molly in accord was an even rarer event, and Harry was glad of the agreement that passed between his two loved ones.

"And you as well, Draco," Molly nagged, and staggered Harry, but he tried not to let his jaw drop too far.

"Yes, Molly, thank you, I will," Draco returned graciously with an aristocratic incline of his head.

Harry wondered at how his lover could still look elegant even when he was covered in soot and blown about from the explosion. His thoughts continued to trip over themselves and head back towards the idea of cleaning Draco up by getting him out of his clothes until Draco frowned a little at him and he realised he was staring. Harry tried to cover the fact that his eyes were a little unfocused by moving, rapidly: he grabbed Draco's hand once more and then headed to the door, via a goodbye hug of knees from the girls and a peck on the cheek from Hermione. When he reached the door, however, his eyes and thoughts returned to the present, and he paused to prepare himself for the short walk through the family quarters.

Harry glanced at Draco, whose other hand was poised on the door handled.

"Ready?" his lover asked.

Harry let his spirits sink a moment, making sure there was not trace of a smile left on his face. His sagged his shoulders and answered, "Ready." Then he bowed his head as well and Draco led the way out of the room.

* * *

The journey back to their room was uneventful, a few sympathetic looks and avoidance from everyone else, but Harry was still feeling the weight of it by the time Draco closed the door on the pretence. Determined to wipe it away, Harry threw the tin on the bed and turned around. He then took a moment to appraise his lover, who was still holding the door handle. Draco looked back, clearly trying to assess whatever Harry was emoting: a difficult task, since Harry wasn't sure what it was himself. He was frustrated, he knew that, pretence always made him a little edgy; he preferred honesty, even when it hurt. The rest of his emotions, as far as he was concerned, could wait, so he ignored the worry he could still see sat behind Draco's gaze by taking off his glasses, and advanced. Before Draco could react, Harry was on him, and had pushed him back against the panel. He rubbed closely, and demanded a kiss.

Harry had found over the weeks of their relationship that it was easy to entice Draco into sex, and today was no different; momentary shock turned into an enthusiastic response, and Harry slowed his hasty press of lips when hands rubbed up his arms to his shoulders and steadied him. This was only a delaying tactic, he knew he was going to have to deal with the concern in Draco and explain the details of the new demonstration: Draco could drop everything if his libido, or Harry's asked him to, but he had an unfailing habit of picking everything back up again once the distraction was over. Still, Harry could feel from the warm response that the diversion was as wanted by Draco as it was by him.

Harry could taste the soot on Draco's lips, and it was that chemically tainted flavour that stopped him from exploring more of his lover's body. He broke the embrace, taking the opportunity to breathe properly and leant back, smiling at his companion.

"You taste of potions," he told him, and wrinkled his nose.

"Maybe I should get clean then," Draco returned, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth as well.

His lover's eyes were sparkling, and Harry knew exactly where his mind was going, in tandem with his own. Harry grabbed the front of Draco's shirt, and simultaneously walking backwards and pulling on the shirt, he began to undo buttons. Draco went with him, and was far more direct as his hands went to Harry's trousers. Not looking exactly where he was going, Harry hit the bathroom door surround, and despite Draco's chemical taste, he couldn't resist pausing there for another kiss. The contact made the world disappear, and he relaxed into the embrace, forgetting even the clothing removal.

Draco was not so indulgent with the pause, and hands pushed Harry's trousers down, along with his underwear and then began to fondle what they had revealed. With a gasp at the aggression, Harry took the hint and began removing clothing again. Draco's shirt hit the floor, and then Harry began fumbling with his fly. However, he was being very successfully distracted by the hot pulses that were running out of his groin each time Draco stroked or squeezed his genitals, and coupled with the fact he was working blind, his attempt at unzipping his lover did not go very well.

Draco broke their kiss and laughed at him, which caused an interesting mixture of mortification and arousal in Harry, because his lover did not cease his ministrations.

"You first, then we can get naked," Draco leant forward and whispered in his ear.

"Oh Merlin!" was Harry's only response as Draco squeezed a little harder than was comfortable and he pushed into the touch.

Harry hadn't realised that he was so ready for sex. Draco was good, but it was his own passions that had roused very quickly, and he grew swiftly erect. He couldn't help himself as he began to move against the stroking, encouraging the heady stabs of pleasure that the touching was creating in him. He lifted his hands up above his head and grabbed the upright of the doorframe for support. Draco pressed close, forcing Harry's erection up between them and the mixture of Draco's smooth stomach and the slightly rough cotton of his own shirt running over the sensitised organ made Harry groan. Draco captured his sound between a press of lips.

It didn't take much more pressing and stroking before Harry tipped his head back and shuddered into release. Draco held him close then, keeping the orgasm between them, and Harry passed on every sensation to his lover. It wasn't often he felt Godi's instincts in Draco, but Harry thought he felt them then, absorbing the desire, at least on a physical level if not with the destructive magic of which the demon was capable.

Draco didn't let go until all of Harry's sexual aftershocks had stopped and they were still again. Then he stood back, leaving Harry to support himself, and smiled. Draco's chest was glistening with the slick products of Harry's exertions, and he displayed the result like a trophy.

"Now I really need to get clean," he observed, his voice thick with arousal, and walked past Harry into the bathroom.

Harry's eyes followed the arse neatly packed in black denim, while his legs were still regrouping. Draco knew he was being admired, and he was still displaying when, keeping his back to Harry, he ran his fingers around the waistband of the jeans. Harry had never seen a professional stripper, but he wondered if one would have been as skilful as Draco. He decided not, as, despite being on the descent from orgasm, his libido stood up and took notice of the way his lover kicked off his shoes in such a way that the movements promised much more. Draco's hands were in front of him for a moment, and his waistband relaxed away from his skin. Harry drew in a long breath, because he knew he'd be holding it shortly, and that he did as slowly, Draco slid his hands over his hips and round over his buttocks, just inside the loosened jeans. Harry resisted reaching out and helping the measured progress, he was enjoying watching too much to ruin it with action, but he did force himself to breathe when Draco paused. It was only a momentary stillness, enough to tease Harry into wondering if he was ever going to see the pale flesh below the denim, and then, with a flex of his muscles, Draco began to push the jeans off his body.

The sight of smooth, inviting buttock appearing was too much for Harry, he pushed his trousers and boxers all the way down his body and stepped out of everything, shoes and socks as well, and then he stepped up behind his lover. Draco was taking his time, his jeans were barely halfway down his hips; Harry pressed close against his back, put his palms over the back of Draco's hands and made sure the fabric descended as far as their arms could reach from standing. Draco pushed back into his hold rubbing deliberately against Harry's over-sensitized penis, making him whine and pay for his interruption, but he did not try to escape the press of palm with which Harry held them in position. Harry bit shoulder in retaliation, but that only caused a warm murmur of desire from Draco and another massage of buttock on cock. Harry was still seeing stars from his orgasm, so he admitted defeat and just moaned the delicious overload into the bite marks he had made, at which, Draco relented.

The couple held still for a while, and Harry savoured the simple closeness, letting his excitement wane in favour of the comfortable warmth of companionship. Yet Draco's patience ran out with a flex of his fingers against Harry's palms. Harry let go and backed off, and just watched with renewed anticipation as Draco swiftly finished the removal of his clothing. Only then did Harry take his own shirt and, undoing a couple of buttons, pulled it off over his head. Draco had stepped into the shower by the time Harry had dumped his shirt on the floor, and he held out his hand. Harry didn't hesitate, he walked into the invitation and closed the shower door behind them.

"Now," Draco halted a kiss Harry had ready with his words and a finger to Harry's lips, "how were you planning on getting me cleaned up?"

Harry felt a grin spread from ear to ear, and he leant first on the fingers silencing him and then as they gave way, into his partner. Draco accepted the embrace this time, parting his lips, and with the chemical taste back in his mouth, Harry decided to was time to start the cleansing. Blindly, he reached behind Draco and turned on the shower. They both started, as it ran cold at first, but the temperature did not really impact the hot cuddle that Harry instigated, and the water quickly washed away the predominant taste of potions from Draco's lips.

* * *

There were some advantages to living in an environment that maintained an even temperature, and one of them for Harry that evening was that neither he, nor Draco bothered to put on any clothes, even once showering and sex had eased into petting and then they had finally put their attention to training. That didn't mean the petting ended, in fact, being naked, it rather meant that their activities intensified again, but Harry tried to direct them.

Harry had a loose hold on Draco, and they were lounging over the pillows on the bed. He was enjoying the echoes of Draco's magic running free, and he was paying more attention to the way his body was feeling, the small eddies of pleasure that sensing Draco gave him, than in what Draco was actually doing with his talents. The lid popping off Molly's tin where it was sat at the end of the bed, was therefore a surprise.

"Hungry for something more than sex, then?" Harry observed wryly, but even as he planted a light kiss on Draco's shoulder, he heard his own stomach rumble at the prospect of food.

"If we can train and fuck, I don't see why we can't eat, train and fuck," Draco returned, and as if to prove his point, shifted down and round in Harry's arms and pulled him into a more substantial embrace.

Shots of more than just delight ran up and down Harry's back as magic danced over his skin: Draco was becoming very adept with light titillation. Harry had yet to decide to what kind of use such a talent could be put outside the bedroom, unusual distraction tactics maybe. The magical touches, which could range from feather-light to aggressive strokes, certainly kept him occupied. Still, not all training had to have a clear purpose, and Harry was not feeling like being a task master, especially not when undirected Draco was pushing all his buttons.

There was more going on than mere titillation, however, Harry could feel it in the way his stomach was flip-flopping, and he found out what it was when Draco let go of his neck and he sat up. Floating in front of them, twirling slowly, were two cheese straws.

"Two unconnected tasks at once," Draco crowed, and leisurely reached for the nearest pastry.

"Very impressive," Harry agreed, offering his own form of praise in a stroke of his hand over Draco's thigh.

Crow became purr, and Draco shifted his leg into the manual form of titillation. His limitation did not pass Harry by, and that thought brought forward others to do with demonstrations of madness. Harry stopped the caress and grabbed cheese straw, but the action did not chase away the outside world. He disliked Draco's infallible habit of remembering where he had left off after a distraction was over, and he found it even more odious in his own conscience, but reality had to be faced. Having his reward interrupted by a sudden cooling in ardour meant that Draco couldn't fail to spot the change in Harry, and much to Harry's already downwardly spiralling mood, his partner sat up and frowned at him.

"Something on your mind, Potter?" Draco launched with hostility that came with talking about 'playing crazy'.

There was no point in hiding his thoughts now: Harry knew Draco's Slytherin instincts were making connections faster than he could back out of the situation. He sighed, and admitted, "I spoke to Albus today, and given how close we are to having the Azkaban plan ready, its time for another demonstration, something to make it obvious I'm a danger to more than Llewellyn."

"How obvious?" Draco growled, his brow knitting further.

"The Mess again, Llewellyn will start it, you'll try to stop him, but I'll flip."

"You can't play with your sanity like this, Harry," his companion objected, and before Harry could look away, took hold of his face in both hands; Draco spoke with a sincerity which chilled Harry to the bone as he said, "Remember, I've been there."

"One more time," Harry promised, "and then I'll go into hiding until we're needed."

It wasn't enough to placate his lover, but Harry saw the fire in his eye damping somewhat. He took the opportunity to explain further with, "I won't just go for Llewellyn though, something defensive which will knock over some tables, look big."

Draco laughed and released him.

"What?" Harry demanded, the hostility in his partner making him edgy.

"And just how are you going to do that without a wand?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows and looking down his nose as he reminded Harry that Albus held his wand.

For once, the Slytherin had not out thought the Gryffindor, and Harry threw in a trump card with, "That's where I need you to train me."

He saw the interest spark in Draco instantly, but there was no immediate enquiry as suspicion came with the curiosity. Harry didn't want to play games, and so he stepped into silence.

"Wandless magic."

Draco's jaw slackened, although he managed not to look completely surprised by that admission: since their first, almost disastrous foray into wandless magic, Harry had resisted all of Draco's attempts to persuade him to try again. The idea went against everything he knew about himself, and the hit and miss instincts that accompanied the magical donations Draco gave him were disturbing to his sensible side. Yet, although Albus had not said anything directly, their conversation about the required show to seal Harry's fate had, he was sure, guided him to the conclusion that he needed to work on channelling. It was also a carrot for Draco's cooperation, as his mentor had pointed out when Harry had aired his thoughts. It became apparent quite quickly that, as usual, Albus had been correct, because the suspicion dimmed in favour of the curiosity in Draco's expression.

"Alright, I'm listening," Draco agreed begrudgingly.

At the small relinquishing of ground, Harry showed his appreciation by leaning forward and offering a kiss. Draco didn't respond, well he tried not to, but Harry took the tension in his lips as a good sign. He pulled back though, not pushing his luck and replied honestly, "Thank you."

"You're a fool, Potter," his companion continued to chide, but there was a small, confused smile tipping one corner of his mouth.

"Elemental magic," Harry launched, "Gerald said it was a sure sign of instability. I want to practice lighting a few fires and knocking things over. I need to be good enough to make it look random, but I won't do it if there's a chance I could hurt anyone."

Harry had thought this through carefully, and he had set himself the limits after a long consideration. Draco's little smile disappeared as he pursed his lips, but it wasn't a derogatory gesture, just one of thought. He spoke his mind eventually with, "There's always a chance you'll hurt someone."

Harry didn't like that suggestion, but he didn't deny it, instead he agreed, "Well, I want to make sure that chance is as small as we can make it in one night."

"So we're doing this tomorrow?" Draco was not happy about the short notice.

"Albus is going to get everybody ready for lunch time," Harry admitted sheepishly.

Draco crossed his arms in front of him, a very Snape-like gesture, and for a moment, Harry wondered if he was going to be locked out of the bathroom again. However, shortly, he saw the warring sides of Draco's personality come through and he waited for the conflict to subside one way or the other. In the end, Draco uncrossed his arms again and took charge with, "It's going to be a long night. If you're going to use my magic elementally, and you don't want any accidents, we have to attune properly in first."

Harry hadn't been expecting that one and he showed his confusion. Draco smiled condescendingly and then surprised Harry again by capturing his chin between the fingers of one hand. Harry held still as the touch told him to do, and watched as his companion leant in towards him, not sure what signals he was receiving.

"I'm still not always getting my magic right," Draco told Harry clearly as he stopped a few inches from his nose. "We've had one go at this before, and I'm guessing, but I don't think I can provide that kind of incentive in public. You sense my magic, now you have to learn to control it."

Harry had more Snape flashbacks at the mixture of sarcasm and instruction, but once again, the context invalidated the association. He was confused by the heat in Draco's gaze and the coolness of his considerations, and Harry's perplexity was not helped when Draco's other hand suddenly contacted with his chest and pushed him sideways and down onto the pillows. From hostility, Draco switched to passion, straddling Harry and forcing a kiss. Harry did not object, as his libido sat up and took notice once more, and after a second of tension born of shock, he relaxed into his lover's command. The mention of attunement had made him think of meditation, but he had to admit that the embrace was much more appealing.

Relaxing, it became clear to Harry, was what Draco wanted him to do, because as he opened to the caress, he felt magic follow the initiation. His stomach lurched at the power shift, and Harry pushed up against his partner, a little uncomfortable but, at the same time, aroused by the interaction. Draco did not seem to acknowledge the movement of his magic at all, but he did stroke down the length of Harry's body in response to his flex. The sexual stimulation almost outweighed the magical as the arousal from both merged into one for Harry. He wrapped himself around his lover, parting his lips and urging the same from Draco with flicks of his tongue.

As the caress grew deeper, the butterflies in Harry's stomach faded into the background and pulses from his groin took their place. He didn't think he'd ever be able to get enough of Draco, the man electrified him with every touch: the scent of sex grew stronger in the air once more. Harry kissed and nipped for as long as his partner wanted, and then, in a familiar move, tipped his head up, closed his eyes and gave Draco access to his neck. The feel of tongue and teeth around his collar had become a minor addiction for Harry, and the submission involved never failed to excite Draco. This time was no different, and Harry murmured his pleasure as his well-versed lover took the hint and began a slow run of kisses down over his chin, and then on to the vulnerable flesh of his neck.

Harry lost himself in the sparks of desire that each lick sent out through his body, and he moulded to Draco, making as much contact with him as possible. It wasn't difficult to tell that Draco was getting hornier by the second, and with his passion, the touch of his magic also grew. Yet Harry's stomach did not flip again, he just smiled to himself as the effect was more like floating. Draco was still applying incisors and slippery muscle to his neck in equal measure, and a mixture of physical pleasure and magical instincts made Harry gloriously light-headed. The source of such bliss ceased to matter, and Harry embraced both connections with Draco.

"You feel me," Draco murmured close to his ear, and Harry started in surprise. "Don't deny it," he continued, and ran his tongue from ear to collar in a way that drew a deep, unfettered groan from Harry; he wasn't about to deny his lover anything. "Keep your eyes closed and concentrate on the magic."

The instruction just about made sense to Harry, but his distracted thoughts took a while to work it out. When he did, it was due to a small incentive from Draco. Lips against his Adam's apple in conjunction with a push of magic brought the moment into focus for Harry, and centred him on the gentle eddies that the pique left. Draco left him silent with the power for a while.

"Turn your head," Draco finally continued, and fingers against his chin guided Harry to turn his face towards the end of the bed. "Now, open your eyes."

Slowly, Harry obeyed, letting the world come back in while he tried to keep the magic close as well.

"You see the lid of the tin?"

Harry murmured a response, using tone rather than words to express his affirmative.

"I want a flame in the middle of it."

Right then, Draco could have had anything he wanted as far as Harry was concerned, and a flame he wanted, thus a flame it was that appeared out of a shimmer of air. Golden and red, the elemental force licked up from the incombustible metal, half a foot of misplaced nature. In the first few seconds, the sight was beautiful to Harry, as it lit up it surroundings in the orange glow, like the safe flames of a hearth. Yet Harry held many more associations with fire than its beauty, and as his brain caught up with what Draco had seduced him into doing, the presence of magic and flame brought the sound of his own scream into his memory. Harry tensed and the flames shot up another foot, which only made more of the recollections of the torture that had been his downfall. His skin bristled with the remembered pain of the fire, and his heart leapt into his throat. There was no escaping fire once it consumed you, Harry had felt that terrible truth, whatever the tricks behind it, and he was terrified by what he had created. The tendrils of flame licked up over each other, proving their strength, their deadly, agonising power, and they dominated their maker. Harry could no more escape the magical flames now as he could have Lucius' false fire in the torture chamber.

Harry lost all senses to his confrontation with the elemental magic, he was in his own world, trapped by the connotations of memory. He couldn't breathe as his terror closed his throat, couldn't see anything but the power before him. Yet, then it was gone. Draco flashed across Harry's vision, reaching out to the source of the flame, and Harry wanted to scream then, warn him of the dangers, but he was paralysed. He could only watch as his partner flipped the tin lid rapidly onto the floor.

The fire was gone.

The source of his terror gone, Harry gasped in breath and shuddered away the memories. Draco grabbed him and pulled him up into an embrace, and Harry sank into the comfort, the shock of the brainstorm making his blood run cold. Nothing was said for a long time, Draco held, Harry shivered, but, it had been a brainstorm, more intense than any other, but just a brainstorm, and Harry eventually regained some equilibrium. Grateful for the tight hold, but feeling restricted by it, Harry shifted and he was released. Draco didn't let go completely, however, and when he sat back, Harry saw a face showing overwhelming concern, that Draco shortly voiced with, "We're not doing this."

"Yes we are," Harry cut right back, reacting more to the decision being taken away from him than anything else.

"You think that was a normal reaction to fire?" Draco countered, bringing the point right back home to Harry.

The young man paused before he responded, trying to make sense of the gut reaction he had had. The sensible thing was to admit defeat, it had been a very powerful brainstorm, and there was good reason to leave the idea of fire well alone. Yet fire was an enemy now, and like any other enemy, it had to be faced.

"They broke me with it," Harry admitted for the first time in words the fact that had brought Draco to his cell that last time.

Harry saw his lover flinch at the emotions he knew he was showing: this was raw and painful, and a saner person might have left well alone, but Harry knew he wasn't on a completely even keel, and there were tricks to maintaining as sane an outlook as possible. One such trick was defiance, and he was not going to back down.

"I begged them to make it stop," he bared himself even more, and this time, Draco looked him in the eye.

This was something they both understood. In their own personal hells, they had both been there, faced with horror that made them beg for mercy. Harry didn't know what had been that breaking point for Draco, but he could see it in his damp gaze. He didn't need to know.

"I have to face this, or I'm going to spend the rest of my life running from it. Help me control fire," Harry requested.

Draco held very still for what seemed like an eternity to Harry, but he waited there in the silence: he wasn't going to push his companion on this, he could see too many echoes of similar thoughts to his own in the expression that never wavered from his stare.

"We take it slowly," Draco eventually decided.

Firmly, Harry nodded.

* * *

By the end of the evening, the butterflies in Harry's stomach were making him nauseous, but, with Draco watching from a distance, he was holding a small flame in his cupped palms. It was the ultimate symbol of the control he had learned, the elemental magic reduced to one wisp of fire floating just above his untouched skin: brought down to size. It didn't matter now if the flame was an inch or ten feet in height, he commanded it, and he also commanded his terror. That fear would never go away, Harry knew this type of magic would always make his heart skip erratically, but if he maintained his command on the fire, he also knew that he would maintain his composure.

"Put it out," Draco told him.

Harry did as he was told and relaxed into a slouch, trying to express the reassurance, which he had gained from the control, in his smile as he looked across to his lover. Draco looked no where near as happy, but then, Harry had not explained himself when he had used his companion's magic to literally play with fire. He patted the bed next to himself, and Draco quickly crossed the room and sat down.

"Thank you," Harry offered sincerely, "I can do it now."

"I'm not so sure I can," Draco answered and frowned, "you look absolutely terrified every time you create a flame."

"That'll add to the effect tomorrow, then," Harry quipped, and was given a black look.

He didn't want to annoy Draco, not after he had been so much help working the spell over and over again, gradually reducing the physical connection and the support he was offering until they had managed the subtlest of connections.

"Sorry," he continued and reached out to his lover impulsively; when a hand gripped his, he finished, "It does scare me, I keep thinking of the false fire, but I can put it to the back of my mind now."

Draco looked him right in the eye again and told him, "If this goes ahead tomorrow, it is the last time. No more pretending. Poppy gets to lock you away until we're needed."

"Funny, she said the same thing," Harry made a face, but he wasn't too serious; a hospital room wasn't his favourite place, and neither was a healer breathing down his shoulder a favourite pastime, but he could put up with it if it meant his friends stopped worrying.

"Good," Draco smiled, a Slytherin, 'I-win' gesture, but Harry took it on the nose without comment.


	60. Losing Control

Albus had done most of the organisation for the confrontation, it was set for twenty past twelve when the lunch crowd would have begun to arrive in the Mess, but when the place would not be too crowded. Hence, at midday in order to establish themselves in the room, and to establish Harry's mental problems with some acting and a few bright pink peppermints with which Poppy had impersonated common paranoia medicine, Draco led Harry down the corridor to their destination. However, as they approached the restaurant, a very loud conversation flooded out into the corridor. The welsh accent gave Llewellyn away instantly, and the man was discussing the latest Quidditch game rather too loudly for anyone's comfort. Draco came to a rapid halt and his frown echoed Harry's when he turned round.

"He's too bloody early," Draco hissed, checking his watch, "Gerald and Poppy aren't free till twelve fifteen, we can't do this now."

However, looking over his shoulder, Harry saw something Draco didn't, witnesses coming round the corner who would have seen them scurry away. He hunched his shoulders instantly and grabbed Draco's hand, hissing, "Well we can't back out now."

Draco glanced behind them, and quickly rested a hand on Harry's arm, leaning in as if offering some kind of comfort as he argued, "Yes we can, we have no back up. Llewellyn's trying to warn us. We'll have to reschedule for tomorrow."

"No!" Harry snarled in a whisper, grabbing Draco to stop him charging off while simultaneously hiding his face in their huddle: he had spent a good couple of hours psyching himself up for the performance, and he was not about to give up on it now. "Everyone'll know pretty quickly, we can risk it."

Draco didn't look at all happy, but there was something about a Gryffindor in a temper that could reach any man, and Harry was relieved when he backed down.

"Alright, but keep me between you and him," Draco finally agreed, patting his shoulder like it was a quiet morale-boosting chat they were having.

Harry didn't get a second chance to back out, someone else was leading the vocal conversation and Draco took the opportunity to lead them into the room. Two grown men holding hands would draw attention in any room, but when those two men were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, everyone looked. Some eyes darted away again as soon as the entry had been registered, clearly embarrassed by the dynamic they were seeing, but Harry was very glad when Draco didn't let go.

Draco came to a smart halt, staring at Llewellyn's table as if he had not known the man was going to be there. Harry did as he had been told and made himself as small as possible behind his leader. He did not look up at the table, but wrapped his free arm around himself and stared anxiously at the floor. Draco turned on his heel, as he had done outside, clearly about to take them back the way they had come, but Llewellyn interpreted his new cue correctly, and Harry heard his chair scrape back.

"Not so fast," Richard challenged, and silenced the room.

Everybody knew what had happened last time these three people had met, and the worry was in their faces. Draco was not as quick to turn back to the bristling Welshman, but he did, Harry glanced up then, looking at Llewellyn through his fringe, and then he took a step backwards. Draco still had hold of his hand, so he could go no further unless he used force; he looked down at the hold on him, trying to give the impression that he was considering bolting. He was holding himself on his toes and leaning away from the tight grip on his hand by the time Draco spoke, warning, "Don't start Llewellyn."

"Wasn't me who started slashing people. What is that nutter doing out in public, he'd dangerous," their opponent launched angrily and took a step away from his table.

Harry whined and pulled a little harder at Draco.

"We're leaving now," Draco held up his hand to stop the approach, trying to sound as calm as possible, but the consummate actor managed to imply concern as well.

Llewellyn, of course, did not heed the warning and he countered, "Not now you're here. I want words with him, he maimed me."

Harry hid behind Draco then, making clear signs of distress. His partner finally let him go as Llewellyn put himself in the role of aggressor, and Draco stepped towards him. Some people were watching the argument, others were watching Harry, who instantly wrapped both arms around himself and glanced around as if unable to decide what to do.

"Back off, Idiot," Draco fanned the, as yet, unseen flames, "you helped put Harry in this state, I won't let you do more damage."

"You and whose army?" Richard snarled back. "They won't even give you a wand. Are they afraid you'll turn out like your father?"

"No!" Harry yelled, deciding it was time for the fireworks to start.

He felt the small push from Draco, and he took the magic: flames leapt up from the nearest unoccupied table.

"What the hell?" Llewellyn took a few rapid steps backwards, looking genuinely shocked by the display.

"Not like him!" Harry continued to shout, clouding his face with anger, if only to try and hide the way his heart had begun to thunder in his chest. "Never like Lucius!"

Harry meant what he was saying. The thought of Draco taking after his father was abhorrent to him, and he drew on those emotions: this had to look real. Another fire shot out of the linoleum under Harry's direction, just to one side of him, a little closer to Llewellyn.

"It's you," the Welshman condemned, and Harry didn't know if the fear in his opponent's eyes was real or fake.

Llewellyn drew his wand.

"No!" Draco objected instantly and went for the weapon.

Their planned adversary was not the only one to have drawn his wand, however, and a stunner went flashing at Draco from one of Llewellyn's comrades. Draco's reaction was instinctive, he defended himself, and his magic lurched. The stunner bounced off him, but Draco still went stumbling backwards, disoriented by the deflection. The careful connection between he and Harry also suffered, and Harry's control was not that good. Flames suddenly burst forth from their enemies' table, scattering men in all directions as they avoided the blaze. This was the wild element that terrified Harry, the uncontrolled power, and the fear cut right through him, paralysing him with shock.

Someone else took the opportunity to try another stunner, at Harry this time, but Draco's protective magic had run up their connection, and the spell bounced off, sending another table sprawling. As with Draco, the defence was not complete, but with magic running riot inside him, the indirect hit just made matters worse. His thoughts scattered, and Harry felt his legs buckle, as if Brutus has just given him a kick behind his knees, and he fell to the floor the prisoner once more. Emotion took control as the stunner stole his logic, and Harry cowered away from the panicked people in the room as all that mattered was the hostility around him and more flames that leapt up under his confused direction.

He buried his head and cried out, "Draco!"

There was no response: his protector was bent over a table, only just about moving. Harry's world folded in on itself as his stunned brain failed to handle the mixed up input. The fires terrified him, and the threat close by made him defensive, but they were nothing compared with a captive's enraged defiance when Harry felt hands grab him. He hit out, someone fell away from him, and then the red of another stunner came at him. The barrier was still there, but the world went away still further. Harry went weak, and collapsed forward. Harry went back into the hands of his gaolers; his glasses fell off his nose, and he couldn't see them properly, but the hands that took hold of him again were Brutus and Villainous'. He couldn't fight them, he had been helpless against them so many times, and he knew he was lost to them. Harry could only moan his complaint when he was lifted and removed from the chaos.

* * *

Harry fought the terrible confusion of the half-affective stunners and those who enforced it. Time and place didn't matter, nor did the faces that were out of focus, these were enemies, and they wished him harm. He was too weak to object for the longest time, when hands held him horizontal on a moving platform and the ceiling whipped by at speed, but when they lifted him from that platform onto something else, his strength had returned enough to kick at Villainous, who was on his ankle removing his shoe. Someone put a cup to his lips, but he knew the smell of potions, and he would not play their games: Harry spat and kicked some more when his tormentor failed to jar his knee as was the normal tactic. Yet, there were more gaolers than Harry was used to, bodies closed around him, grabbing hold of him, taking his arms and legs. Harry thrashed, they would not have him, but there were too many, and bindings were wrapped around his wrists and ankles, holding him down to the strangely soft table in familiar position. Harry growled and fought some more, but the gaolers backed off, leaving him alone, and he was tired from the stunners, so his strength ran out. He relaxed reluctantly, and struggled instead with his defences, which were stale from misuse.

As he relaxed, and the stunners began to wear off, Harry's thoughts began to sort themselves out and he realised he was alone in a hospital room. Yet, he was still strapped to a bed the same way he had been held to the torture table, his wrists up by his ears and his ankles held firmly. Logic tried to restart, tried to tell Harry that he was safe, but his associations with being bound were too fresh to allow him to maintain his nerve for long. He was struggling with the mixture of reality and memory when the door opened and someone came rushing towards his bed: he shrunk away and closed his eyes, half expecting Lucius to gloat.

"Merlin! Harry, can you hear me, it's Gerald?" the person began, and recognition made it a little way through to Harry.

He opened his eyes to see the man looking down at him, and reaching for one of his wrist straps.

"Stand aside," Draco's demanding tone broke through any barriers Harry had in place, and he gasped his relief at the strong presence.

Gerald backed off, Harry's stomach flipped and then he was free. Rapidly, he sat up and then Draco was there, offering support. Harry reached to him and buried his face in Draco's shoulder, shaking with the dying associations, needing his lover's presence to bring back reality.

"Did you even look at your patient's file before you reinforced his symptoms?" Harry heard Gerald turn on someone else: he had never heard him raise his voice before.

"Th-the patient became violent, and we couldn't get a potion into him, we had no choice," the someone, a woman stammered rapidly, but she didn't sound too confident in her conclusions.

"Get out," the head healer ordered, authority in his voice.

The door closed, and the bed dipped behind Draco; Harry didn't look up, he was still trying to make sanity come back.

"Harry, are you alright?" Gerald's urgent tones asked, but he didn't respond. "Harry, look at me, please."

The request sounded so urgent that Harry made himself peer over Draco's shoulder at a very worried-looking man. Harry took in a deep breath and tried to make the monsters in his thoughts go away. He was still shivering, and he held fast to Draco, but he knew Gerald, and the torture chamber dimmed into memory properly.

"Harry?" Gerald was watching him closely.

"It all went wrong," Harry finally found his voice and confessed.

"How are you feeling?" his healer looked a little relieved, in which Harry took comfort.

Harry couldn't answer that clearly: he was cold, and frightened and tired, but all manner of other emotions were stirring up his stomach juices.

"Better," was all he managed, but stayed curled around Draco all the same.

Silence followed: Gerald waiting for something more; Harry searching for what to say, and Draco a quiet rock. Harry clawed back yet more of his equilibrium in the undemanding pause, but he could not find anything to express the confusion of emotion that he had experienced. He wasn't mad, he didn't think, but the way his thoughts were still spinning unsettled him greatly. A sudden entrance unsettled Harry further; he nearly jumped out of his skin and his fingers dug into Draco's back. He buried his face again, not caring who had given him another shock.

"What in Merlin's name happened?" Poppy Pomfrey announced her presence.

"Why didn't you wait?" Ron joined in, sounding worried.

"Llewellyn got there early," Draco explain, adjusting his hold on Harry and turning a little, "it was get on with it or risk missing the opportunity."

"Why did we ever trust him?" Ron's red-head temper began to show.

"He tried to warn us, something must have happened," Harry found himself defending, and, feeling saner for it, sat back from his support.

Draco gave his an appraising stare, but didn't make comment, just grabbed a hand when Harry slid his up his companion's leg.

"I made Draco go ahead anyway."

"Twat!" Ron turned on him, but not too harshly.

It was just worry, and Harry ignored his best friend when Gerald added, "Healer Jones was first on scene. Harry fought and she says she was forced to tie him down."

"She was," Harry chose to be honest, as rationalising his recollections made him feel a bit better. "I got hit by a stunner and I was confused, I thought I was back at Hogwarts. I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

"I don't think so," Gerald reassured.

"Enough of this," Poppy decided, walking over and taking Harry's pulse. "No more pretending, Harry, it is too dangerous, for you and everyone else."

"But we've come so far!" he objected, snatching his wrist back from her.

Draco took hold of his shoulders and stopped him getting off the bed, but Harry's emotions were too raw for him to hide them. Poppy looked shocked, but he carried on, "So it went wrong, really wrong. Does that mean it goes to waste?!"

Poppy pursed her lips: she was about to destroy everything, Harry could see it in her eyes. However, before he could erupt at her, Gerald moved between them and offered, "May I suggest a compromise. The plan goes ahead. Harry is to stay here anyway. However, rather than there being pretence on his part with any staff other than ourselves, I suggest that anyone dealing with Harry knows the truth. No more pretending unless moving through public is absolutely necessary."

Pomfrey didn't look happy, but she didn't look like she was going to object either. She looked back at Harry, everyone looked at Harry for an answer. Harry was feeling vulnerable and defensive, and it took a great deal of effort not to snap back at the reorganisation, however small Gerald had managed to make it. The more people who knew, the more likely it was that someone would let something slip and the whole plan would have to be abandoned. Yet, even as the concern that had tried to scupper his plans made him feel claustrophobic, it also echoed in his own emotions. He had lost it, big time, there was no getting away from that, and no matter what outside influences had helped him on his way, Harry didn't try to deny to himself that the possibility of it happening again worried him.

He was going to be coddled for a couple of days, he knew it by the look in Poppy's face: an idea to which, at that moment, he was not totally averse.

"Alright," he agreed quietly.

* * *

The rumour-mill, as hoped, worked overtime on the fall of the Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter was a practical vegetable, catatonic, he didn't say anything unless during violent outbursts when he could use elemental magic. Poppy Pomfrey was struggling to contain him: he'd burnt several staff, and some of his supposed friends. This rumour had been backed up by several of Poppy's most trusted members of staff running out of the isolated room in which Harry was being kept, with various items on fire. Further, the rumours stated that the only person who didn't get hurt was Draco Malfoy, who could dominate Harry and make him do as he said. This one was pure fiction, worked up by the imaginations of those involved in the rumour-mill, but it all added to the cocktail of stories that, according to external reports, had leaked out into Britain.

The truth was that, by all accounts Llewellyn had been doing a good job of setting Harry up, and Harry, himself, had begun climbing the walls in a matter of hours, as long as it had taken his shock at the extreme brainstorm to wear off. Since he was meant to be a wall-starer, books or games or other distractions were too risky, so he was left with only the conversations of his friends, who 'had all volunteered to try and bring their troubled comrade back from insanity'.

Twenty four hours into the isolation and it was Minerva's turn to sit with Harry. Thus, he was pacing up and down the small room, while she sat calmly by and watched.

"Do you know how long it'll be before it's all decided?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too agitated: Minerva had only been in the room five minutes and he'd already snarled at her twice.

"The spell has begun," Minerva answered with the patience of age.

Harry stopped pacing and made a face, but resisted saying anything. His mentor looked evenly back at him, her gaze saying she saw his sentiment with or without words.

"You, My Boy, began all this. You must now put up with the results," the woman intoned with Gryffindor honesty.

Harry glared at the unwavering opinion, but didn't know quite what to say. The frustrated part of him wanted to yell and be obnoxious, but Minerva's directness also spoke to the part of him that knew only too well this was his bed to lie in. In the end, he just showed his conflict in his expression, and, only then did his companion respond, by patting the mattress closest to the chair in which she was sat. Immediately, Harry went and sat down and confessed his disquiet with, "Have I bitten off more than I can chew, Min?"

"Always, Harry," his friend assured him, a small smile adding a twinkle to her eye.

The unexpected humour lightened the burden somewhat, and Harry sighed, "Me and my bright ideas, I should leave them to the Ravenclaws and Slytherins."

"What a terrible thought," Minerva made her own face and Harry laughed.

The laughter didn't last long, but it put a little perspective back inside the bare walls for Harry. Everything had been so much of a fluster since the Voldemort's ultimatum that Harry had not had the chance to talk with Minerva at any length. There was no fire, or heather tea, but Harry wanted to know what thoughts lay behind the slightly guarded expression that settled on his companion every time there was a pause in the conversation.

"What do you think of everything that is going on?" he asked.

Minerva looked uncomfortable for a moment, but then he saw the honesty return to her eyes and she told him, "I am very much afraid people are going to die."

The worry in the woman's face told Harry the 'people' to whom she was referring, and he took her hand as he replied, "I'm not going to run into Voldemort's arms, neither is Draco. The risk we are taking is no greater than Remus, or Hermione, or Ron, or Severus when they go to Azkaban."

"You think that makes me feel better?" it was Min's term to snap, and her eyes were blazing and damp as she stared Harry down. "All of you, even Ginny is insisting on going on one of the distraction raids."

"You taught us well," Harry praised, catching a laugh of pride in his throat. "Did you expect any less?"

Minerva looked like she was about to cry, so Harry did the only thing he could think of, he leant forward and wrapped her in his arms. It was too much for the strong woman who had inspired generations of Gryffindors, and Harry held her close as she began to shake.

"All my little ones," she confessed, her voice trembling. "How many more have to sacrifice themselves fighting that monster?"

"Be proud of us, Min," Harry urged, trying to find some solace in the bleak odds that the Azkaban teams were facing.

"I am proud of you all," Minerva McGonagall fought back some of her dignity, and pushed Harry gently away. "And if these old bones were fifty years younger, I would be with you out there."

Minerva was a fine witch, a dangerous foe in any duel, but her days of running combat were over, and Harry saw that regret written all over her features.

"Oh, so this is all about not being able to join in, is it?" he teased, trying to lighten the mood as his companion had done for him.

Min smiled, but it was a sad gesture which said she was merely trying to acknowledge his effort, so Harry straightened once more and told his friend, "We are all intending to come home, safe and sound."

"I will hold each and every one of you to that," Minerva sat straighter in her chair once more, her emotions back under control.

Harry smiled and sat back further on the bed, pulling his legs up under himself. He and Minerva sat in silence for a little while, comfortable in the pause after the honesty, each taking their time over what to say next. Harry wished he had a steaming cup in his lap into which to stare, it had always helped his contemplations, but he had to make do with the stripes of his pyjamas. Hence, his thoughts were not flowing a freely as they might have done. However, after a few moments, it didn't matter anyway, because there was a knock at the door.

Shortly, Draco and Ginny came in. They were both out of breath, and Draco told Harry, "It's happening: Albus sent Ginny to get me, there's an escort at Poppy's door to take you and I to a meeting."

Immediately, Harry pushed himself into the top corner of the bed against the wall, and made himself as small as possible. Ginny cast herself a chair and sat down, and Draco perched on the edge of the bed at the opposite corner to Harry. The escort was only a few seconds behind the messengers, and Harry tensed as a second knock on the door alerted him to their arrival. He buried his head in his knees and let the rest of the room deal with the new entrants.

"Albus wants to see us," Ron announced his presence.

"Harry as well?" Draco asked, sounding uncertain.

"Yes, Harry as well," Seamus' Irish accent was quiet, but Harry couldn't tell if it was from concern or fear.

Harry had made no acknowledgment of the room at all, but then Poppy spoke.

"I would recommend a precaution," she informed everyone smoothly.

There must have been some kind of affirmative running round the room, it was silent, but the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up at the atmosphere. He wasn't sure if he was imagining things, but then Harry heard Poppy walk over to the bed: he shrunk away further, but she spoke directly to him with, "Harry, look at me, please."

It was the same tactic Gerald had used after his brainstorm, and was a standard among head healers, or so the man had told both Harry and Poppy. He decided not to respond at once, and the order came firmly, "Harry, look at me."

This time, he obeyed slowly, peeping upwards like a frightened child.

"Thank you," Poppy continued, still calm and sure. "Can you stand up for me, please? Draco will help you."

Harry glanced around the room first; Seamus and Dean were stood by the door, wands drawn and held discretely by their sides. The pair looked like most other people had since the games had begun, a little sympathy showed in their eyes, but their expressions showed worry. Ron was much the same, and Harry knew his act was a good one, because his friend was struggling with just watching. Harry ignored Ginny and Minerva in favour of then looking at Draco. Slowly, his partner held out a hand and stood up. No-one pushed any further, they just waited. Harry counted to five and then took the offered hand. He stood up with difficulty, as if his muscles were knotted from the hunched position.

"Will you wear something for me, Harry?" Poppy asked, authority in her voice.

He looked at her, and then, supposedly unsure of himself, he looked to Draco, who nodded. Shifting from foot to foot, Harry then nodded as well. Harry knew what Pomfrey was going to draw out of her apron, they had discussed a logic choice of pacifier if Harry had to go out in public. Draco had stopped wearing the suppression bracelet after it had been used against him during the Azkaban revelations, and now it had been decided that the roles should be reversed.

"Draco will wear this one," Poppy explained, holding up the silver controller, and then she indicated the other one and added, "and you will wear this one. It will stop you starting any fires."

"Good," Harry answered, and stuck out his wrist.

Draco did the same, and the bracelets were fastened quickly. There was no lurch in Harry's stomach this time, the magic in the items was completely dormant, but he replicated, to a lesser degree, Draco's first reaction to them, sitting down and breathing hard.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Poppy asked, taking his wrist and checking his pulse.

"Felt a bit funny," he replied, deciding to have a sane moment.

"Do you think you can manage a meeting?" his healer played along.

Harry nodded curtly.

* * *

Three Aurors, two friends and an overly attentive partner were quite enough to shield Harry, who was acting withdrawn, all the way to the meeting. He kept his eyes on the ground and his hand firmly fixed in Draco's, and tried to keep his heart rate down. This was it, the reason for the last few days of playacting, and he was nervous as hell. By the way Draco had his hand gripped in a vice, Harry guessed that he wasn't the only one who was anxious. Ron was in front and opened the door; for a moment there was the sound of animated discussion, but before Harry even reached the entrance, silence had fallen. The room was full, that much Harry could gauge without looking up, and he could guess a lot of the gathered company, and Rough-Rock confirmed her presence with her usual acidity in, "I repeat my objection. Why are we bothering with trivial things at a time like this."

Harry glanced around the room vacantly, but then took pleasure in fixing the woman with his best psychotic gaze: she shifted in her seat near the front and turned back to Albus, Amelia and Malcolm, who were stood behind the teacher's desk.

"Please come in, My Friends," Albus ignored the protest, and indicated to seats near the front.

Ron closed the door he had held open for the rest of his party, and then, watched by every person, some concerned for Harry, and others for themselves, Draco led Harry to the front, flanked by Dean and Seamus. However, the gaze that Albus sent him stopped Harry from sitting down. He and Draco stood side by side and met the ancient wizard's sad, serious stare.

"Harry, I am very much afraid that your preparations have proved prudent," Albus told him, and in so doing, confirmed that the time for playacting was over.

"What has happened?" he asked, clearly and evenly, letting go of Draco's hand and standing straight.

There were some gasps and mutterings from behind them, but Harry ignored it in favour of gathering facts.

"A change in security at the Death Eater bureau has meant that our scheduled diversion there cannot go ahead," Amelia joined the conversation. "We have no other diversions that would have such national interest, other than that which you have offered."

"What game are you playing?" Rough-Rock sounded angry, and she stood up.

There were rumbles of approval from her comrades, but no-one else climbed to their feet.

"No game," Dumbledore told the woman directly, and, under his steady gaze, clearly intimidated, Rough-Rock sat down; only once she was back in her seat did Albus address the rest of the room, and continued, "Auror Potter and Mr Malfoy came to me some days ago and offered themselves as decoys to draw attention away from our plans for Azkaban."

"So he only pretended to be nuts?" some not-so-bright spark threw in from the back.

"Just so," Albus agreed and inclined his head. "I shall not explain the full reasoning here, suffice to say, by tomorrow evening when our plans come to fruition, Harry and Draco will appear at The Leaky Cauldron, and our enemies will believe that they do so unprotected by ourselves."

Harry wasn't sure he was any more comfortable with the mixture of looks he was receiving now than he had been with those when people thought him mad. People didn't like being duped, however good the intentions behind it, and there was a good deal of hostility coming from around the room. At least, Harry shared the brunt of the stares with Draco, and he stayed close as he did his best to meet every pair of eyes that would hold his gaze.

"As few people knew as possible in order that seeds could be sown," Amelia added her weight to the decision. "All of you in this room will be involved with the Azkaban raid in some fashion, and thus, there will be no more secrets among us. This meeting is to ensure that we all understand our part in this most important undertaking. Please, Harry, Draco be seated."

Harry sat down next to Draco, and, once his hand was out of view, slipped it back into his partner's. He was given a sideways glance, but the sign of support and affection was not withdrawn. Together, the couple then cast their attention on the plans in hand.


	61. A Step into Darkness

Harry lay as passively as possible in bed, wringing his sheet between his fingers, and remembering another time when he had been waiting for Draco to arrive. It was the middle of the night, as before, and he hadn't seen Draco since they had been 'removed' from the meeting in the middle of the afternoon. His lover had been dragged out of the room by Aurors, in a dramatic display of fighting and objecting to the supposed decision that had been made to transfer Harry out of Hogwarts Tutus without him. Catatonic Harry had been returned to his room and had, ostensibly, been drugged up to his eyeballs by Poppy and then watched over by Molly. His Mum's tears for Harry had been real when Arthur had come to collect her, and they had finally said goodbye to him, the only members of his friends and family who had been able to do so. The door had been firmly closed since then, and guarded as far as Harry could tell, and from the way Poppy had been acting whenever she came in, the person outside his door was not someone in the know.

Thus, it had been a difficult evening, during most of which Harry had lain on his side, facing the wall and brooding on what was to come. He would rather have just got on with what needed to be done; all the intrigue was beginning to wear thin for the Gryffindor in Harry, but since it had been his own Slytherin guile which had come up with the game plan, there was no one else to blame. He may not have put the pieces in play, but, for once, Harry had formed a strategy with them rather than, as Ron put it about his chess game, 'just guessing'. He had decided who to put in danger, who to cast as villain, and Harry couldn't shake a strong sense of guilt at that. He wasn't used to such decisions, he normally left that to bureaucrats and yelled at them for it, but this plan was mostly at his feet. The greatest burden was the thought that he was taking Draco back out into the world from which they had so recently escaped. Hogwarts Tutus had been truly a haven for both of them, a place to heal and take stock of lives that had run out of control. Now the brakes were coming off once more.

His little room was dark now, lit only by a dim glow from under the door, and Harry had caught the occasional shadow of feet passing by, sometimes pausing in front of the door. Whoever it was outside did not make much noise, but in the night time silence, Harry had been focusing on the occasional foot falls and movement of chair on floor and using them to pass the time, which he could track no other way.

The pacing had started again, down past his door, but rather than the sound of a wood on tile as the someone sat down, Harry felt his stomach lurch, and then heard a grunt followed by the slap someone heavy falling to the ground. He knew that sound from last time, and he had grabbed his glasses and was on his feet by the time the door opened. Harry's déjà vu intensified as he was greeted by Draco stood in the doorway, swathed in black and carrying the same bag as before. Draco threw a bundle at him, which Harry just about managed to catch, and then he was told, "Get dressed, we don't have much time. The Aurors will notice I'm gone when they do their cell rounds in five minutes."

Harry scrabbled with the bundle of clothing, and found that he was also to be dressing in mourning colours. He stripped quickly, while Draco kept watch on the corridor, and pulled the jeans and shirt on without the luxury of underwear. He sat on the bed and slipped shoes on his bare feet, and then, as he stood again, Draco waved a box at him. About twelve inches long, made of wood and not very wide, Harry knew what was inside: his wand. Dumbledore had left it in his study for Draco to steal. Harry took the item and Draco went back to lookout duty while he slid back the lid of the box and reached in for his weapon of choice. However, in the gloom, his fingers closed around paper as well as wood, and, when Harry pulled out the holly wand, he found the base of it wrapped with parchment. Walking towards the light, he unwound the paper and recognised Albus' script.

'Draco, a gift from a grateful old wizard to you,' Harry read, and stopped there, feeling a bit like an eavesdropper, he hastily held out the parchment to his companion.

Draco was leaning out into the corridor, alert for any unexpected surprised, and required a tap on the shoulder before he turned, a small frown on his face for being distracted.

"For you," Harry hissed and waved the paper.

Draco took the paper like it was an inconvenience, his tension showing in the way he flicked it into the light. However, his eyes widened as they scanned the page, and Harry thought he saw the ghost of a smile appear on his features.

"What is it?" he couldn't resist asking.

"When we get to Diagon Alley, we're going to Ollivanders," Draco whispered back, a lightness to his voice, and his expression showed a more definite grin. "Albus has arranged for me to get a new wand."

Now Harry grinned as well: Draco hadn't had much opportunity to practice with his wand, but from the short moments they'd spent trying out simple spells, it had been clear to Harry that his lover missed the instrument that had been taken from him when his fate had been decided.

However, a few seconds of shared smiles was all they were allowed, because there was a groan from outside. Draco leant around the door frame and waved his hand; Harry' stomach flipped and a leg, which was all he could see of the man who had stood outside his room, stopped moving.

"Help me get him inside," Draco instructed, stuffing the note into his bag.

The pair of escapees dragged the man, their would-be witness to the escape, into the room and then they were off. Harry followed Draco down the corridor, his wand held loosely in his hand, but ready to cast any defensive spells they might need. Harry's sense of repetition was still powerful, but he deliberately reminded himself that he was not in a place surrounded by his enemies this time, and began to run through spells that would be useful, but not harmful.

There was no-one in the back corridors of the infirmary, Neville had his team of healers well out of the way, but that could not be said for the rest of the base. Hogwarts Tutus never really slept, although its night time persona was very different from that which it wore during the day. Children were in bed, families together in their apartments, and the dimmed corridors were home to only insomniacs, night staff and would-be fugitives. At least one of the runaways had his heart in his throat. Harry was hoping not to meet anyone: acting as though still drugged, coupled with unbalanced and trying to land the right spells was a combination of theatrical skills Harry did not think he possessed, but, in this, it had been decided that Draco should not reveal the full extent of his magic. People were generally aware that magical things were not normal with the ex-Dark Prince, but the Contagio Malefica incident had been put down to a desperate fluke by rational people who didn't want to believe that even the darkest powers would manipulate someone to such an extent, and that was how it would stay, vague. Another something to keep the rumour mill furnished with speculation.

Hogwarts Tutus did not need night patrols like its namesake, but, due to the high level of activity around the Azkaban breakout, there were still plenty of Aurors and Resistance people moving about in the wee hours. Their route out had been planned carefully, avoiding most of the more populated areas, but Harry knew it wasn't going to be plain sailing, especially when it became clear that the cat was out of the bag. The school rooms were empty in their part of the building, which was a good thing when the sound of running feet echoed down the corridor to the pair. Harry ducked into a shadowy doorway and yanked Draco in after him. They flattened themselves into the gloom, and Harry reached for the door knob. He gritted his teeth to prevent from swearing when the handle turned to no effect.

It did not take Draco long to realise that they had a problem. He glanced down at the locked door, rolled his eyes and then reached across Harry to the handle. However, before any magic could change state, a body went stalking past them from the opposite direction. It took Harry a few seconds to recognise Moody, and that was only when the Auror placed himself between their hiding place and the approaching foot falls.

"Nothing this way," he told the owners of the footsteps, who shuffled to a halt at the end of the corridor. "They must be heading for the East Wing." There was a pause, and then Moody finished, "Well, get going, we can't let that reprobate get away with Harry."

Harry relaxed as he heard boots moving off away from them. He stepped out of his hiding place as their saviour turned round to them.

"Thank you," he offered, and then asked, "Have you been trailing us all the way from the infirmary?"

"What else did you expect?" Moody looked quite proud of himself.

Draco took the opportunity to join them; his arms were crossed and he challenged, "Reprobate?"

"You always have been and you always will be," the old Auror did break into a grin this time as he gave his opinion. "Now, be off with you. Left at the end and second right."

Draco surprised Harry by actually smiling back at Moody: they were not enemies, but neither was there any love lost between them.

"See you when we get back, Moody," Draco nodded to the habitually suspicious fighter, and was given a nod in return.

"When you get back," came the firm agreement, and then it was time to go.

Harry nodded to their helper in his turn and then followed Draco.

* * *

Harry didn't think this was quite the route they had planned, but it was the one that Moody had directed, and it was free of searchers. The second right was in fact a long, unlit hallway. They weren't quite halfway down the dark tunnel when a door opened to the left. Harry had his wand raised ready to strike in a heartbeat, but someone was prepared for that, and a dark shape grabbed him, while a second took hold of Draco and they were dragged into the room behind the door.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," a female voice complained as the lights came up, and Harry saw Tonks leaping around, waving her hands in the air and blowing on them.

Draco, whom she had clearly been holding, was smouldering round the collar, and Harry reinterpreted the leap in his stomach from surprise at the grab to his lover's magic.

"Tonks, are you alright?" Draco asked immediately, going after the woman, who backed off from him rapidly.

"What did you do?" Remus asked, stepping in between his two friends.

"A little heat exchange," Draco shrugged, and leant round the barrier and repeated his concern with, "Tonks, did I hurt you?"

The woman stopped blowing on her fingers, and shook her head. At which point, Ron, who had been the first dark shadow, and had Harry pushed up against a wall, relaxed, and Harry found he could breathe much more easily again. Harry coughed, Ron looked sheepish and backed off, at which point, Hermione hooked her hand through her husband's arm.

"What's going on?" Draco worded the question that was also about to pass Harry's lips.

"We thought you might need some of us to run interference," Ron began, but the way he puffed himself told Harry immediately that that wasn't the whole truth.

Hermione looked at Ron sideways, and Harry was sure of his suspicion before she spoke more honestly and confirmed, "And we wanted to say goodbye."

Harry didn't really know what to say: he'd been dealing with the threat he was facing by getting on with it, and the pause caught out his emotions. He bit his tongue and glanced at Draco, who was looking as shell-shocked as he felt. At his stunned silence, Hermione burst, and Harry tensed as she threw herself at him.

"Be safe," she urged, hugging him tightly, and, slowly, Harry hugged back.

"You too," he replied earnestly. "Don't get in the way of any Death Eaters tomorrow."

Harry looked over Hermione's shoulder to his best friend, and then at Tonks and Remus, and expressed that same sentiment in, "And that goes for all of you."

Hermione moved on to Draco, leaving Harry facing his three other companions, and he wasn't sure if Ron was about to follow his wife's example. However, he was not given the opportunity to find out, because there was the sound of multiple excited people outside.

"Behind the door," Remus ordered Harry and Draco.

Harry obeyed, and watched his friends glancing at each other, trying to decide what to do. In a moment, a look passed between Tonks and Hermione that Harry didn't understand, but the result was that as someone took hold of the door handle, each woman grabbed a man. Ron looked startled when his wife jumped him and pushed him up to and over a desk, but his face was nothing compared to Remus'. Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin had been friends and colleagues for a long time. Tonks, due to her tomboyish nature was 'one of the guys', but for the second time in his life, as he watched his female friend push his male friend into a chair, straddle him and plant a kiss on him that would have made a troll's toes curl, Harry realised that Tonks was a real woman underneath it all. If he hadn't been flattened against the wall, squashed next to Draco, trying not to be seen, Harry might have given the incident some more thought, but as it was, the door was thrust open almost on top of the pair, and someone demanded, "Who's in here?!"

Tonks and Hermione both leapt off their partners, and Harry saw something else he'd never thought he'd see, Tonks flustered, or at least, Tonks doing a good impression of being flustered. Hermione blushed lightly, one hand to her mouth and the other one adjusting her clothing. Tonks was almost purple, so much so that Harry suspected her metamorphmagus abilities were coming into play, and she scuttled behind Remus' chair. Ron matched his hair, and Remus, well Remus was a very attractive pink with dilated pupils.

"Oh," came from the suddenly cowed entrant, and Harry sucked in his chest as the man leant on the door and brought it a little too close for comfort, "oh, I see, um, well, carry on."

The door slammed shut as quickly as it had opened. As soon as they were alone again, the two ladies shared a second look, similar to the first, and then they began to giggle. Remus sat up a little bit straighter when Tonks leant over his shoulder and patted his arm, and, from the look of conflicted discomfort, Harry knew that Tonks' impromptu performance had done a little more than shocked her target. Tonks, clearly unaware of this, returned to being 'one of the guys' and commented, "Wonder how long that's going to take to do the rounds."

"An hour at most, and if they come back, we could speed it on it s way by swapping," Hermione teased, and by the way she flashed her eyes at Remus, she hadn't missed the consequences of the encounter.

Remus went from pink all the way to beetroot, and Ron stood up quickly and reclaimed his wife, who leant up against him and soothed the tight little frown that had appeared on his brow at her suggestion.

"You Gryffindors are all so easy to embarrass," Draco stepped out from the wall and joined in.

"Maybe it's because we have morals," Harry decided to defend his male friends, who were far too embarrassed to speak for themselves.

"I never heard you complaining," Draco hit right back, and Harry proved him far too right as he felt his cheeks colour.

Tonks and Hermione found that even funnier, and the smiles and chuckles went round the group. However, there were more serious things afoot than playful teasing, and their humour settled back to ground. It was a better way to end their goodbyes than the difficult way they had begun, and, with a smile still playing on his lips, Harry reached out to Ron, took his hand and finished, "Good luck tomorrow."

"You too, Mate," Ron offered back, and Harry did not resist and he was pulled into a strangle hold by his larger friend.

Hugs and wishes of good fortune followed among all, and then Remus reached for the door.

"We'll go first," he told the fugitives. "Tonks and I will go ahead of you and try to clear the way. Ron and Hermione will go back the way you came and make sure no-one picks up the trail. Give us two minutes and then make a break for it."

Harry nodded, and Draco responded, "Thank you."

A final round of difficult looks brought a lump to Harry's throat, but he bolstered himself with the sense of right he felt about what they were doing: in twenty four hours, hundreds of innocent people would be free once more.

* * *

True to their promise, the escapees' allies had made sure there was no-one save for the occasional house-elf going about his chores, on their way to an emergency exit that had been selected for its remoteness. There was only one hapless soul on duty at the ladder which led up into a hatch way, and he fell to a whispered stunner. There was no point in hiding this one, their pursuers were meant to find the means by which they had left the building, so Harry and Draco just clambered over the body at the foot of the ladder and then hurried up to the surface.

The shaft was tight around his body as Harry led the way up the ladder, and he was relieved when he reached what, from beneath by the light of his wand, looked like manhole cover. Albus had warned Harry that what he saw was not that simple, and, carefully, he extended his hand to the metal plate. He felt the tingle of magic before his fingers touched the barrier, and hastily he withdrew vulnerable flesh.

"It's a hefty protection," he hissed down to Draco, who peered around his feet.

When a hand grabbed his ankle, Harry was surprised, but he nearly let go of the ladder altogether when magic ran up his leg.

"Pop it," Draco told him, and Harry instinctively went with the flow.

He didn't really use a spell, more of a mental push, and with the oomph of Draco's magic behind it, the magical shove sent the metal plate shooting up into the air. Harry drew in a deep breath of fresh, clean, crisp air, and stared up in wonder at a midnight blue, starry sky. He hadn't been in much state to appreciate the outdoors last time he had seen it, and the length of time he had been kept behind thick walls, or protected underground hit home in Harry as he drank in the chill night above him.

"Move it," Draco interrupted his reverie, and, reminded of their situation, Harry scrabbled the rest of the way out of their rabbit hole.

Harry came to rest on his hands and knees on water-logged reedy grass. He sunk his fingers into thick, cold peat and dallied in the feel of nature once more as he waited for Draco to join him.

"What are you doing?" his partner questioned disdainfully, moving to stand over him.

"Nature," Harry answered as plainly as he could, and grinned up at Draco.

"Is overrated," came the caustic reply. "Come on."

Harry climbed to his feet and wiped his hands on his trousers, which gained him another filthy look from his companion, but he didn't care: he was free, in the open and surrounded by wilderness. Then Harry shivered. He was stood in the middle of nowhere on an icy Autumn night in nothing but a shirt and jeans.

"Here," Draco showed he was much more practical as he pulled two cloaks from his bag.

The light, but dense wool weave provided instant warmth, and, over the culture shock, Harry looked around to take stock of the place in which they had found themselves. Albus had mentioned the Yorkshire Moors, and this truly was bleak moor land. The stars lit up some of the ground dimly, but it was the dark of the moon, so much of their surroundings were indistinct at best. Harry had put out his wand on leaving the shaft, and, given a feeling of exposure which he felt, he did not re-illuminate it.

"South," Draco told him.

Harry laid his wand on his palm and cast, "Point me."

The wand spun, fixing on North, and Harry turned in the opposite direction. However, the rustle of grass and the splash of feet made him drop into a crouch before he had even taken a step. Draco joined him. Still, they had been seen, by eyes that could cope with darkness far better than any human, and Harry rocked back on his heels as a very familiar tabby cat slipped out of the darkness and placed herself in front of him.

"Min," he greeted, and did what most other men would have received a scratch for doing, he reached out and tickled Minerva McGonagall behind the ear.

"You're a braver man than I am, Potter," Draco observed wryly, and merely nodded to their animagus friend.

Harry was almost certain he saw an incline of Minerva's feline head in return.

"He's a damn fool, and so are you," Ginny's disgruntled voice alerted them to the fact that Minerva was not alone.

Harry looked up at the feisty young woman, who was stood only a foot or so away, hands on hips. He stood up to meet the anger he saw in her, but he didn't know what to say. Ginny, unlike the rest of his loved-ones, had not accepted the necessity behind his actions, and, it seemed, that, to the last she was going to be like her mother and keep her own council. Minerva meowed and walked over to Ginny, and the effect was quite remarkable. Harry had the impression of a ghost of a conversation passing between woman and cat, and Ginny's anger turned to pain right in front of him. She bent down and picked up Minerva, who then sat in her arms with her head up and back straight.

"What are you doing out here?" Draco took the lead when their friend showed weakness, which gained him a hard stare.

However, Ginny was having trouble maintaining her anger, and another mew from Minerva prompted a confession.

"I had to tell you, I've been trying for days," she admitted, staring at her feet. "When I told Minerva about it, she insisted on coming with me."

Harry didn't like the anxiety that came his way when Ginny looked up at him again, it spoke far too clearly of the dangers Voldemort's Britain posed to him. The news was not going to be pleasant. Yet his friend clearly had the courage to face it, so Harry gave her the grace of time to be able to speak her mind.

"There's a reason Voldemort wanted to break you, Harry," the young woman began, her voice cracking on the unpleasant topic. "If you get caught."

"We won't get caught," Harry denied immediately, but he found a Weasley in his face very quickly, and a hand on his arm as she countered, "Don't make promises you can't keep. We all know the odds aren't good."

Ginny was shaking, Harry didn't think it was with the cold. He had no answer for the blatant honesty, and so he just waited for his companion to go on.

"He wanted to break you because the soul in the orb can resist and turn on the wielder," Ginny informed him.

Now Harry was shaking as well, as he realised why his friend had held back from talking about the orb. The fact that his soul would be in the orb would mean only one thing, he would be dead. This was information that could save the world, but it would not save him. There was guilt and pain Ginny at her revelation, and there was nothing Harry could say or do to heal those emotions, or warm the ice that had formed instantaneously down his back.

"We're not planning on getting caught," Draco came to the rescue by leaning in between the two Gryffindors and splitting the moment.

Ginny stepped hastily back, hanging on to Minerva and staring at her toes once more.

"Goodbye," Harry told her with more finality than he intended, and he heard the sob that she tried to hide.

Harry knew he couldn't afford to break down, so when Draco took his arm and pulled, he resisted his instincts to go and hug Ginny, and instead, headed off into the darkness in silence.

* * *

The young men moved fast over the tussocks of marsh grass and soon their feet were drier as they headed off the peat and up a gorse and rock slope. Harry had his teeth gritted, and his mind was still going over and over the information that Ginny had given him. Did she really believe that they were going to fail? Harry couldn't afford to believe that, but accepting his friends words as useful meant that he accepted the possibility that they would be caught. He was so engrossed in his thoughts, that he nearly slammed into the back of Draco when his companion stopped.

They were at the top of the hill, and a starlit valley spread out below them, a valley with a few blinking artificial lights at its end.

"There had to be a road somewhere over there," Draco informed him, and Harry nodded.

Draco leant back against a half-buried bolder and took in a deep breath. A quick pull on his sleeve brought Harry into the same position beside his lover.

"Don't think about it," Draco told him bluntly. "If we need it, we can use it, but until then, we keep going and we plan to win."

The pep talk wasn't brilliant, but the sentiment behind it found the spirit that Ginny's news had stifled. They hadn't lost yet.

"When we get to the road, we hitch, the muggle way," Harry grasped the plan once more, both with hands and heart.

"London here we come, albeit ineptly slowly," Draco taunted, and stood up.

Harry joined him, but before he could move off, was told, "Well, since Snape came to see me in my cell, that's everyone except Dumbledore."

For a moment, Harry would have accepted his old mentor as the odd one out, but then he heard an almost imperceptible flutter of wings, and a shape, dark against the sky, crossed over-head: he smiled. Not many people knew that Albus Dumbledore was an unregistered animagus, and even fewer knew that the form he took was an owl.

"He's here," he returned enigmatically, and then trudged off down the other side of the hill.  



	62. Little Accidents

No-one noticed the two young men who walked into the Leakey Cauldron wrapped in Autumn cloaks against the chill wind that followed them in. They could have been part of the group of Quidditch supporters who had bundled through the door only seconds earlier, except for the fact that they were not wearing the apparently obligatory scarves in orange and green team colours. The raucous singing of the celebratory crowd was far more interesting than the well covered figures, who moved quickly to the back of the pub and out into the alley.

Harry watched as Draco reached up and tapped the right brick, and the archway appeared. They moved quickly through it, and on up the busy shopping street, well hidden behind their cloaks and the misdirection charm that Harry was whispering under his breath. It wasn't an effective deterrent to all eyes, so the pair moved as casually, but as efficiently as possible towards their first destination. Tired though they both were, Harry knew Draco was more than a little excited about the prospect of a new wand, and, given the peril they were facing, the weapon was a priority anyway, so he knew where they would be going. Ollivander 's was as unimposing as usual, tattier than he had last seen it, in Harry's opinion, but with his instincts wide open, the place practically smelt of power. The frontage caught his attention, so much so, that he nearly walked into the back of Draco, who had come to a smart halt in front of the grubby window.

"I never noticed before," Draco murmured as Harry skidded to a halt behind him.

"Neither did I," Harry agreed, in awe of the strange little shop.

"Come on then," Draco decided, his excitement in his voice, and he took the last few steps up to the front door.

Cautiously, Harry followed his partner into the shop. Even if the smell of magic was his imagination, the scent of musty shelves was not, and it hit Harry as he stepped into the enclosed space. There was no-one in the main shop, but Harry resisted pulling down his hood, and he caught himself tightening his hold on his wand, which was already drawn beneath the woollen covering. The Yorkshire Moors had been cold and exposed, but at least he had known that none, save for Albus, had accompanied them onto the little road that had taken them half the night to travel. There were crowds of people to-ing and fro-ing outside the little emporium, and Harry was acutely aware of the confined nature of their current situation. The apparent lack of bolt holes if anything went wrong was making the trained Auror in him nervous, and he zeroed in on a shuffling noise at the back of the shop.

Old Ollivander walked out of the shadows of his shop, and greeted his new customers with a polite, but enquiring smile.

"Good afternoon, welcome to Ollivander's, how may I be of assistance?"

Draco immediately dropped his hood, and, more slowly, Harry followed suit, still poised with his wand.

"Ah, Master Malfoy, blackthorn with a centre spun from spider silk gathered at sunset on midwinter's eve," the peculiar little man nodded, apparently to himself, "I thought it was you, but one can never be too sure these days. And young Master Potter, although not so young any more, either of you. Please, come this way, I have a more private room at the back."

The proprietor, who matched his shop perfectly, then turned on his heel and headed back the way he had come. Draco glanced back at Harry, his own suspicions showing.

"Please, please, there are eyes even here," Ollivander called over his shoulder, and proved he was not unobservant as he revealed, "and you may sheath your holly and Phoenix feather, Master Potter, my only interest is a promise made to Albus Dumbledore."

Harry felt somewhat foolish at what he interpreted as a minor reprimand; he stuffed his wand up his sleeve and followed Draco, who had already begun to move off.

Ollivander's back room was dustier than the front of his shop, and his moon-like eyes clearly had a better handle on gloom than Harry's, or Draco's, because the little man skirted around boxes and piles of papers which both of his customers hit with their shins. Their host turned when he reached a table which was so high it reached the middle of his chest, and instantly behind him, two candles lit and cast their warm glow on the room. Draco stopped right in front of the old man, and Harry hung back, remembering when he had found his wand, and aware that, in this act, he was an interloper. Ollivander was looking at Draco very intently, and then he began to mutter, "Changed so much. Not at all, won't do anymore."

Harry wondered what the craftsman saw when he looked at a wizard or witch, and considered it had to be some kind of instinct that led him, like the lurches in his own stomach with Draco. His thoughts took a leap when he was also given a heavy glance and a narrowing of the eyes, but then Ollivander turned back to Draco and said, "Please, make yourselves comfortable, this may take some time."

The proprietor was an eminently patient man, Harry had realised this when he had spent so long selecting his own wand, and he sat down knowing that if Ollivander thought something would take a long time, it would mean all afternoon. The shopkeeper bustled out of the room, and Draco, shrugging off his cloak, turned to Harry and made a face.

"I liked my blackthorn wand, I was hoping I might just be able to get a replacement," he disclosed, clearly disappointed.

Harry understood that type of attachment only too well: he may have shared his make of wand with an evil overlord, but that didn't mean its make up was not very dear to him.

"At least you have the best to match you with another one," Harry consoled, and also unclipped his cloak in the stuffy little room.

There was no more time for conversation, because their host came scurrying back in, his arms full of boxes, which went skittering over the table.

"Right, now," Ollivander began, wiping his hands down his trousers and then reverently picking up a box from the middle of the group, "given your chequered background, Master Malfoy, I have selected from different areas of my stock, and we shall have to see what we shall see."

The maker lifted the box out to Draco and pulled off the lid like he was displaying some fine cuisine on a platter. Draco peered into the box, but did not immediately take the item. Instead, from where he was sitting, Harry had a view of an unsure profile that glanced back up at the man who was making the offer.

"We shall see," Ollivander repeated and smiled.

Draco took a deep breath and reached into the box. The wand that came out in his hand was about ten inches in length, and a deep, reddish brown. Harry watched closely as, gingerly, Draco waved the wand at the wall to his left. There was nothing for a moment, and then Harry nearly lost the sandwich that Molly had left in Draco's bag for lunch, because his stomach lurched up his throat in tandem with a roaring noise and a blast of lightening from the end of the wand. Draco took several rapid steps sideways towards Harry and away from the wall as, suddenly there was natural light and a large hole in the brickwork. Harry stood up, coughing from the nausea and the dust that the small explosion had caused.

The only person not reacting at all was Ollivander, he was just looking at his box and frowning in thought.

"Hmm, a bad reaction to either Indian Rose Wood, or doxy wing," the strange man mused, and offered out the box for Draco to replace the wand within it.

He did not seem to notice either young man's shock at the incident until Draco was lax in replacing the wand, and then he looked up and smiled again.

"I am quite accustomed to little accidents, do not worry," he reassured and shook the box a moment until Draco returned its rightful contents.

Then he spun on one foot and began sorting through the rest of the pile of boxes. As he was doing so, he pulled his own wand from out of a waistcoat pocket and waved it at the wall: the bricks then began to rearrange themselves.

"Alright, now we find out which," he told Draco after a few moments sorting, and held out another, longer box.

The wand was the same dark, rich red, and when Draco took it, it began to vibrate immediately in his fingers. Rapidly, the searcher put the object back in the box and Ollivander nodded to himself and confirmed, "Indian Rose Wood no good."

Two more boxes hit the floor then, as the craftsman discarded some of his stock. Harry sat back down and prepared for a long wait.

* * *

Except for the occasional pop and whistle, there had been no more disastrous reactions to wands, well, except for the thunderstorm that had put out the candles, but Ollivander had said that was probably due to Draco's miscellaneous magics and an inadvertent spell, not the wand itself. In fact, he had taken that as a promising sign, and after three hours, Harry was glad they were getting somewhere. The little man had clapped his hands and run out into the shop, coming back with a dozen more boxes, which had disappointed Harry, but Draco had been immensely pleased when the craftsman had informed him that he had reacted well to spiders web core, albeit collected at sunrise, not sunset. That, in their maker's opinion, only left the wand wood to decipher.

Harry settled in for another long haul, but he was surprised when, with a large grin on his face, Ollivander handed over a longish box, Draco drew out a wand of lighter wood, smiled and then sparks rained out of its tip. Ollivander clapped his hands together and beamed.

"Oh yes, yes, of course," he was half talking to himself again, "birch, the wood of initiation, how silly of me not to think of it sooner."

Part of Harry wished the old man had thought of it sooner, but the time didn't really matter: they had plenty of time for the rest of their preparations, and the look of joy on Draco's face made the hours fall away.

"Well," Ollivander admired as Draco held high the prize, and he sighed, "my work is done."

"Thank you," Draco returned earnestly.

"May Merlin's luck go with you both," the old man dismissed as Harry stood up and reached for his cloak.

Harry thanked their host as well, and they headed for the door. However, as he was walking after his jubilant boyfriend, Harry found himself hooked by the cloak and held back.

"How is your wand working, Master Potter, no problems?" Ollivander enquired, raising his eyebrows.

"None, thank you," Harry reassured, a little confused by the question.

"If you have any, don't hesitate to call," the shopkeeper finished and then practically bundled Harry out of the door after Draco.

* * *

Wrapped up in disguise and misdirection once more, the two men returned to the street. It was now time for a meeting that Harry had been looking forward to since the plan to head to Diagon Alley had been finalised. This time, he led the way towards Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. The brightly coloured shop stood out from its neighbours, a little piece of humour in a world drab with tyranny, and Harry smiled inside his hood as he looked up at it. He hadn't seen this place, in which he was the prime investor, since the war had taken London, but he was glad it had survived. The joke shop looked superfluous, full of luxury items for frivolous games that only those without a sense of humour could now afford. Yet, the anachronism was a fraud, and behind the frontage of the gaudy shop lay a place of safety, a link in the chain that spirited desperate people out of danger, and in Harry's opinion, laughter was an added bonus.

Feeling a lot like a stranger, Harry took hold of the door handle and walked into the shop. The mat farted as he stood on it, and several hooters went off to announce customers, and Harry was grinning to himself when one of the equally colourful proprietors came bounding out of a back room and slotted behind the counter.

"Welcome to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheez-," Fred or George began, his arms out in comic welcome, but stopped mid sentence as the concealing dress of his newest customers made connections.

The twin waved an arm at the door, and the 'closed' notice flipped to the front, then he dropped his arms to his sides, his eyes still twinkling with recognition, and he told Harry more seriously, "Come this way."

It appeared that all shops in Diagon Alley had back rooms, because Harry and Draco slipped behind the counter and followed their guide into one. It was significantly bigger than Ollivander's room, and looked like it was some kind of workshop: there were strange-looking devices and bubbling cauldrons everywhere. Fred or George pulled a rope that was hanging down from the ceiling as he walked past it, and then, as Draco closed the door behind them, he turned and grabbed Harry.

"Hello, little brother," the unidentified Weasley greeted, revealing that the whole family knew about his adoption.

"George," Harry guessed, taking the hug and then backing off for a slightly less enthusiastic handshake.

"Fred," the twin corrected easily.

"Harry!" the call came from a staircase that led down into the room from above, and this time Harry knew it was George who bounded down the last few steps and charged over to join his identical brother.

Harry was grabbed again, and he hugged back, a wave of nostalgia running through him as he did so. Yet, this was not a time for such indulgences, and he stood back and slipped, with no little regret, into the present. He glanced over his shoulder and Draco took the cue to step forward, pulling back his hood at the same time. The atmosphere immediately cooled.

"Malfoy," Fred acknowledged for both twins, a conflict very similar to that Harry had only just managed to remove from Ron very clear in both sets of eyes.

"Weasleys," Draco returned neutrally.

Harry would have stepped in and erased the lines that were being drawn on the floor, but the moment was interrupted for him as more shoes sounded on the stairs.

"They are here?" drifted down to Harry in a soft, German accent, and he glanced up to see that his friends had not been exaggerating about the distraction of blond hair and blue eyes that had swept the Weasley twins off their feet.

Herr Grunweld's daughters were stunning, tall and graceful, and Harry couldn't help but return the smiles he was given. It appeared that the sisters did not have any difficulty telling their husbands apart, even from behind, because each confidently took the arm of one of the twins and then greeted almost in unison, "Hello."

"Hello," Harry returned, and heard Draco echo his sentiment.

"Leona, Trudy, meet Harry and Malfoy," George introduced.

Leona stuck her hand out to Harry and Trudy to Draco, who then corrected their host with, "Please, call me Draco."

Hands swapped, and then Trudy took the lead with, "You are very welcome in our house."

"Thank you," Draco continued, smiling even at the hard look in his male hosts' eyes.

"Draco, Harry, will you come upstairs for tea?" Leona invited, and was dragging Fred back the way they had come before receiving an answer.

There was no saying 'no', and so the group headed upstairs. The flat upstairs was surprisingly large, given the outside of the building, and they walked into a lounge that covered the entire first floor, leaving the stairs to carry on up again.

"Please sit," Harry thought it was Trudy who indicated to a large suite in the centre of the room, but, from behind, the sisters were as identical as their husbands and he wasn't paying close enough attention to remember who had gone up first.

He confirmed in his own mind that it had been Trudy, because she peeled off up the second flight of stairs while Leona led them all to the seats, and from the front, they were quite different. After three hours on a box, Harry was very glad of the soft cushion under his rump, and he sunk into the settee, dragging Draco down beside him. The couple resisted reaching for each other, but their proximity must have sent signals, because, when Harry glanced at the Weasley twins, they were sharing a look that spoke of all the things he had slowly ironed out of Ron. The male Weasley children, it appeared, were of similar mind.

"How have you been?" he asked a little too loudly as he cut through the growing atmosphere.

"Surviving," Fred replied.

"Business is slow here, but..." George continued.

"...we're doing well on export," Fred finished.

"Thanks to Papa," Leona added, and perched herself on the arm of the chair George was sat in.

"We don't see enough of the rest of the family, though," George said, and made a face.

"Especially now," Fred agreed.

"Mum," Harry began with the reference that was becoming automatic, and then saw eyes widen a moment, but as he was grinned at by the twins, he barrelled on, "told me to send her love, and she hopes to see you all soon."

"How is she coping with the move 'n' all?" Fred asked.

"I think she misses the Burrow," Harry returned honestly, "but she's in her element making the apartment at Tutus a home. I think everything would have gone smoothly if it hadn't been for me and Draco."

Harry nearly bit his tongue as he realised it had run away with him. He had become accustomed to the acceptance of his friends, and the new situation had caught him out. Fred and George didn't frown, but their stares hardened for a moment. However, Leona, again came with less baggage than the British pure bloods, and she continued through the momentary silence, "I am not surprised she worries: this war is difficult on all of us, but you take a lot on yourselves with this decoy business."

Draco picked up on what Harry thought was a deliberate misinterpretation of what he had said and continued, "Maybe we should confirm the plans, we should be checking in to The Leaky Cauldron before it gets dark."

"How are your broom skills?" George asked.

Harry just grinned, the twins were well aware that he was an active seeker. Draco didn't look so happy, and, apparently, that pleased the twins, who smiled smugly when he answered, "Five years out of date."

"You never forget," Fred quipped, but his confidence was not that reassuring.

"We scoped out the Alley, and we've come up with your best escape route," the second twin continued, apparently oblivious to the frown that was gracing Draco's features.

George then tapped the coffee table between the seats and a map appeared on its polished surface.

"Hidden message table," Fred told them, "sells rather well at the moment."

Everyone leant forward, and George began pointing with his wand.

"Old Tom has agreed to put you in room five," he began.

"Which is at the back," Fred took up.

"And looks over the shop roofs if you look out of the window correctly," Leona seemed to have picked up the rolling conversation technique from her husband.

"When the Death Eaters come knocking, it's out the window, left foot first and right hand on the owl window catch, like it says on the 'In the event of a fire' instructions on the back of the door, and then over the tiles," George disclosed, and a red line began to appear under his wand as he moved over the map of Diagon Alley.

"All the shops are pretty much joined," Fred expanded, "except for a few jumps. Then when you reach us, you'll see a pile of a brand new stock line of ours in the yard below."

"Anarchic Acrobatic Brooms, you won't fall off, but you'll have an interesting ride," George reeled off excitedly.

Harry failed to see the advantage of such a characteristic, and would have made comment, but the twins were allowing no gap between when one spoke and the other continued, so his query was answered more by supposition of its presence than him getting a word in edgeways.

"And what you might say is the point of that?" Fred aced, and then answered, "Well, next to those brooms will be our old racing brooms, which you two will grab, leaving the misbehaved brushes for the Dung Eaters. After that..."

"...you're on your own," George finished, but both twins had identical looks of dissatisfaction on their faces at that admission.

"Tea!" Trudy announced into the silence that fell with the consideration of the coming night's events, and she put a tray laden with pot and cakes down over the map.

"Thanks," Harry decided to be polite: he was too wired to be hungry, but carbohydrates would give him energy for the nights chase.


	63. Laying a Claim

After tea had been served, Harry tried to hold an easy conversation, and Draco had a little better success with what appeared to Harry to be drilled in manners, but both young men were feeling the pressure of what the were geared up to do, and so the Weasleys did most of the talking. They didn't seem to mind; they waxed lyrical on trivia about the joke shop business and filled Harry in on Leona and Trudy's family. Herr Grunweld was a big name in Germany, and in conjunction with the twins, was now spreading his wings in the rest of Europe. For a business struggling against war, thanks to these connections, Fred and George were actually very prosperous, and they had employed Bill to keep track of their money. Consequently, that meant that Harry, although not named as an investor, was, due to the twins honesty and gratitude, entitled to quite a large amount of money if he ever asked for it. Harry didn't think he ever would ask, and money was one of the last things he cared about, but the gratitude made him feel warm inside.

Trivia could not last forever, and as it began to grow dim in the room and lights were lit, Draco and Harry looked at each other, and Harry realised it was time to leave. They stood up, followed quickly by their hosts, and faces, that had been laughing about Aithne's habit of bossing around her sister, were suddenly serious once more.

"Good luck," George offered, holding out his hand to Harry in a much more formal way than the greeting that had been made on arrival.

"And don't get yourselves killed," Fred agreed, surprising Harry, and from his face, Draco when he stuck out his hand towards an ex-enemy.

The formality made sense when Harry realised that the twins were trying to be equally friendly to both of them.

"We shall endeavour not to," Draco returned, with a nod and a shake of the given hand.

Trudy and Leona did not come with the same inbuilt baggage and were not as reticent as their husbands, and, after over an hour of getting to know their guests, they decided that hugs and kisses were much better protection than any wishes of luck. Worried looks then passed between twins and sisters, but nothing more was said as Harry and Draco were escorted back down stairs.

The street was now much emptier as the Autumn evening drew in, and the temperature had dropped from cold to icy. Harry wrapped himself further in his cloak for more than just disguise and followed Draco back to The Leaky Cauldron. This time there was no spell to hide them from unwitting eyes, and several gazes followed the well-wrapped strangers to the bar, and they noted the whisp of white-blond hair that slipped round the edge of Draco's hood. Harry stood behind and slightly to the left of his partner, his head bowed a little, but glancing around the room, reinstating the madness pretence of the last few days. Draco was in charge here, and he flicked his hand at Tom, who was at the other end of the bar, flicked it in such a way that people could see the rough cloth wrapped around his wrist and make their own assumptions as to why it was there. Tom eyed the newcomers for a moment, and then made his way up the bar, wiping a glass absently as he did so.

"What can I get you, Gents?" he asked, leaning over the bar and smiling a toothless grin.

"A room," Draco answered him, his tone haughty and strained.

"For the two of you?" Tom laboured, laying a heavy and suspicious gaze over both of them.

"Yes," Draco snapped back.

"And that will be for how long?" the barman sighed to himself as he put down the glass, cloth still in it, turned and picked up a book from behind a stack of bottles.

"Just the night."

Harry stopped listening to the conversation and took note of the dirty cloth that was sat up in the glass. On the road to London, he and Draco had discussed how to gain attention in the pub, and they had decided that a little demonstration to link the shadowy strangers to the rumours would be a good idea. When Harry stepped away from his companion, he was not in fact ignored, as Draco's interest signing the register would have suggested, he was given a magical donation. Harry put his hands on the counter and stared at the glass. He took hold of the magic and pushed. The tip of the brownish rag blackened first, and then flames sprung from the singe mark. Harry bit down on the twinge of fear that came with the small fire, reminding himself that he had control of it, and he made it grow. The fire starter pushed just enough so that his flames spread out across the top of the cloth, and he tipped his head to one side, an exaggeration of the fascination he felt for his nemesis.

There was a gasp and then a 'hey' from further down the bar before Tom turned from the deal he was concluding to see the show.

"No!" Draco barked, and Harry took a rapid step away from his creation, shrinking in size at the apparent wrath.

He started as he was grabbed by his partner, but came with the yank that pulled him back to Draco's side. With a little magic from Draco, the fire fizzled out, but it had been enough for Tom and the whole bar.

"Here, he's not going to be any trouble is he?" Tom challenged, holding the room key tightly in his hand.

Draco quickly reached into his cloak, pulled out a money purse and threw it on the bar.

"That should cover any trouble," he told the innkeeper.

Tom didn't open the bag, but he weighed it in his hand, then looked at the key, and passed it to Draco.

"Number five."

"Thank you," Draco finished, and, Harry tightly in hand, walked out of the bar with every eye on his back.

* * *

Draco did not let go of Harry until they were safely in their room, and when he did, Harry didn't really want to let go of him. Still, he did, stopping where Draco left him, in the middle of the room, and letting the ghost of elemental magic settle away; he would never feel easy about magical fire again, but he was determined not to let it develop into a phobia. Instead, he pushed the thoughts away with the image of his lover pulling off his cloak and bag, and stretching, much like a cat, elongating himself elegantly. His higher brain considered that lust was an inappropriate distraction for the current situation, but his higher brain was being ignored by the rest of Harry's thoughts and feelings as he coped with his own stresses. He followed his baser wants, dropped his own cloak in a pool at his feet and then walked up behind Draco, who gave a small start of surprise when hands wound around his waist, but very quickly warmed to the touch.

Harry pulled his lover in to him, opening all his senses to him as much as he could. He tasted Draco, running his teeth and tongue over neck bared to him. At the same time, he breathed in deeply, drawing in the scent of his man, and ran his hands up under loosened shirt, touching smooth flesh. Harry listened to the tiny murmurs of appreciation that came from his partner as he administered the titillation, and he felt Draco's magic responding in tiny unconscious eddies to the emotions his attentions were inspiring. Glancing over Draco's shoulder, Harry looked down his body and ran one hand lower, over responsive groin. Draco moaned and pushed back into him, and at that moment, Harry committed all his senses to memory. This is how he wanted to remember his lover, close and intimate: the Dark Prince was gone, defeated by their connection, and no matter what was ahead, Harry knew he would never relinquish the precious moments he had spent with his Adonis.

"I love you."

Harry took a few seconds to realise that it was Draco who had spoken and not his own thoughts, and then a wash of joy ran from his head to his toes. He held his lover even tighter, still not quite believing his ears: he had become accustomed to the confusion in Draco when Harry professed his love, and he had moth-balled any expectation of direct reciprocation. At his reaction, Draco reached up and stroked his hair.

"Moment by moment," Draco whispered, his tone husky and broken with emotion.

"Moment by moment," Harry agreed, accepting the uncertainty of the future.

"We are going to survive this," Draco added firmly, seeming to read the doubts right out of Harry's mind.

Harry just kissed his partner: he could not confirm that thought as Gryffindor optimism failed him, but he would not deny it. Now was all that mattered, the next few minutes, not the hour or so while the world outside muttered about the strange couple who had taken a room; that could wait. Plans had been laid, schemes were afoot, and there was nothing to do but wait for them to come to fruition. Harry filled that waiting with his love and his desire, and he intensified his attentions.

"Make love to me," he murmured into Draco's ear.

Draco laughed lightly at the request, heat in his sound even as he supposed, "What if the Death Eaters catch us inflagrante delicto?"

"Then we ride brooms naked," Harry returned flippantly, knowing that there was little chance that the news would travel fast enough to interrupt them.

Draco's laugh petered out, it wasn't really a time for humour, and as he fell silent, Harry repeated, "Make love to me."

His lover needed no more instruction, and Harry loosened his hold as Draco turned within it. He looked into the deep, grey eyes, and wondered at how much had been hidden from the world for so long. Draco wasn't a monster, he was a man, like any other, and pain had shaped his destiny, like it had Harry's. That horror had given the couple a link, and Harry saw it again now, less aggressive than when it had first been reluctantly forged, but as clear as day. Acknowledgement of similarity, truce, friendship, love, all had happened so quickly, but Harry recognised each development, in his memory and in the way his lover was looking at him then. He smiled at the strength behind Draco's gaze, and waited for a response.

Draco paused a long time in their loose embrace, his gaze examining Harry's, searching, Harry thought, and he did not know if his lover found for what he was looking, but eventually, slowly, Draco closed the gap between them. Harry closed his eyes. Lips brushed his own, tacky, undemanding, and a trickle of bliss ran down Harry's neck. He savoured the sensation, letting it run its full course, committing it to memory, and Draco waited for him. Harry didn't know how Draco read him so easily, he had no such ability, but he was glad of it, and only as the eddies of pleasure thinned, and he shifted a moment, did he feel his lover's lips again. The touch was a little harder this time, warm and yielding, just enough to gain a push back as Harry's desires got the better of him. Yet, Draco drew away again after only a moment, leaving echoes of his touch to part Harry's lips in a sigh of contentment.

Harry knew this wasn't a tease, it was no time for games, and he found he liked the slow, deliberate pace. Draco took advantage of his mouth being a little way open, and Harry shivered as damp tongue ran lightly against the inside of his top lip. He recognised the invitation, and, this time, Harry closed the tiny gap between their mouths. Draco was waiting for him, and hands slipped into his hair, guiding gently as Harry tasted his partner as carefully as if it was the first time once more. Harry relaxed against Draco, intimately close, and let the world drift away.

His passions grew gently in pace with the kiss, and Harry basked in the closeness, taking his time, trusting his lover. Draco could still be guide to his searcher; even now they knew each other so well: it felt right and natural, and released Harry from any responsibility. He had asked for his Adonis to make love to him, to take him into their mutual desires as he had in the guest room at Hogwarts, and this time, Harry knew where he was being led. The finest of touches held Harry in the embrace, and he reciprocated, stroking one hand down over torso and buttock, and the other mirrored Draco's move and entwined into soft, blond hair.

There was no rush about the caress, it could have been their last, and Harry felt that acutely. He needed as much from the embrace as he could have, and he gave as freely. He used desire to block out the uncertainty of his future. Draco's tongue danced over his own, and Harry's body pulsed with his delight; he shifted involuntarily against his lover and inadvertently changed the dynamic of their kiss. With a mild flex, Draco broke the hold and Harry took a step backwards. He looked at his partner once more and recognised the wild set to his features, and also the tight reign that Draco had placed on his instincts. Draco had changed so much since Harry had first met him, he had grown through his madness and evolved into a man who could trust enough to admit love, but Harry was glad that the untamed edge had not left his partner completely. He liked the unpredictable side to Draco Malfoy, the one that could excite him with just a glance, and, even more, Harry liked the fact that now it was he who was inspiring that ferocity.

Harry reached out to the face that showed him so much, stroking Draco's cheek, and he offered, "There's no need to hold it in. I trust you."

His lover looked surprised for a moment, even confused, and Harry realised that what he saw was unrecognised instinct for Draco.

"You're holding back," he explained more fully, "I can see it in your eyes. Let go."

Draco closed his eyes and frowned, even as he nuzzled into Harry's palm. Harry held like that, just waiting, unable to express himself any more clearly. Release came in a form that Harry had not expected, and he realised that he had not fully understood what was happening. Where there had once been only emotion, now flowed magic as well; Harry's body flooded with sensation through every pore at once, a subtle touch which told him he was known and welcomed by Draco's power, but which still inspired a catch of breath. Draco opened his eyes, and they were calmer, but the spark had not left them.

"You feel me?" Draco asked quietly.

Harry nodded.

"I feel you too," he was told.

Draco's control had been growing exponentially, especially when it came to intimate situations, and the delicacy behind the magic did not pass Harry by. Impressed by both the skill and the power itself, Harry asked, "Any idea where this talent came from?"

"Not a clue," Draco replied.

Harry smiled at the honest reaction, for him it was a good sign, because it meant that his lover was no longer compartmentalising his magic.

Draco kissed the hand Harry still held at his cheek, and then took hold of it. He sat down on the bed and gave a gentle tug on Harry's arm. Kicking his shoes off and leaving them behind him, Harry sat down on the mattress beside his lover and accepted a renewed caress. It didn't take much persuasion from the insistent press of lips, or the way in which Harry could feel Draco's magic responding to their mutual excitement, for Harry to lie back onto the bed. He didn't know exactly what his lover could feel from him, but there was no doubt that Draco was aroused, that became very clear to Harry as he was straddled and, even through denim, he felt the brush of stiffening cock against his own.

Throughout the shift in position, the couple refused to break their embrace, but that made breathing difficult, and Harry was forced to come up for air. He turned his face away a moment, planning to return after a gasp, but, instead, his move was put to Draco's advantage. Harry's pulse danced a crazy little jig as his lover quickly descended to his neck to tantalise leather against skin, and this time, along with his own excitement came that of Draco's power. The magic made his heart do somersaults just by its presence, and from the murmur Draco gave him, Harry realised it was not just his own pleasure he was feeding with his addiction. As magical relationships went, Harry knew that his sexual connection with Draco was what any normal wizard considered kinky, and for a turn on, the collar was the one kink he could not fully explain to himself, let alone anyone else. Yet it was the buzz that mattered, the world-excluding wonderful feeling that he knew he was sharing with his partner.

Draco's tongue ran lightly between leather and flesh and, with a moan, Harry trembled and stretched his neck so that, for a moment, the flex trapped damp muscle against his collar. As soon as he was released, Draco's teeth bit just above where his tongue had been held, an erotic reprimand which contrasted with the heat Harry could feel rising in his lover's body and being. He tensed at the minor pain, rubbing up against the torso above him, and sounding his surprise, but Harry was smiling when he relaxed away from having left his partner that little bit more aroused. This was easy play, blithe titillation that both lovers knew well, and they each moved expertly to entice the other.

With time and skill lavished on his addiction, Harry's libido was gradually and definitely awoken by Draco. He stroked back at his partner, loosening shirt from trousers and searching out revealed flesh. Still their play was leisurely, indulgent of everything they were about to risk. Harry was so engrossed in the relaxed touching, that when Draco broke it, his sense of peace was immediately offended. He opened eyes that had closed in enjoyment and frowned up at his lover, who knelt up over him. Draco's hair was mussed, and a smile was playing over his features that echoed the warmth in his magic. That power came out to play as, with a butterfly in his stomach, Harry also felt the top button of his shirt pop open: his pulse quickened.

The frown dissolved from his brow, and Harry reached for the body that had parted company from him, running his nails lightly up over Draco's stomach. The result from Draco was that he tipped his head back and sighed, stretching into the caress, and several of Harry's buttons then slid out of their fastenings at once as his magic ran away with him. Harry grinned triumphantly up at Draco, when he looked back down at him, and scratched a little harder. That lit a few more fires, and Harry found his eyesight failing as Draco removed his glasses and bent down for a fierce kiss. Harry's remaining buttons popped and his shirt was slid aside by unseen hands. He pushed up Draco's shirt and pulled the bared torso down to his. Much to Harry's delight, Draco capitulated, and he was treated to a rub of flesh on flesh.

Yet, the press of torso on torso did not last long: Draco had other ideas, and in a few seconds, he broke the kiss once more and slid down Harry's body. They were only half on the bed, and Draco came to an awkward, knee-bent stance standing over Harry. Harry began to wriggle further onto the mattress to spare his lover the difficult angle, but hands on his shoulders stopped him, and the look that Draco sent him told him that his partner was exactly where he wanted to be. As he stilled, lips met Harry's chest, and fixed around a nipple: he whispered his pleasure. Teeth joined the suction, and Harry's sound became a groan as the titillation gained some aggression. He shifted into the press of mouth, trying to resolve the sensation into pain or pleasure, and was rewarded with a flick of tongue which make him jerk involuntarily. Draco then released his sensitised flesh and Harry sank onto the mattress, breathing a little faster than he had a moment before.

"You feel good," Draco purred, closing his eyes a moment and arching his back above Harry, cat-like and seductive.

"So do you," Harry returned, rubbing the chest close to him, and receiving a pulse of magic for his trouble.

Much as he clearly liked the sensation of Harry's stroking, Draco was very like a wary tomcat, unwilling to stay exposed, and he sunk back to Harry's torso, forcing the touch out of his way. The kiss that touched his pec then took Harry's breath away. He gasped in shock and he reared into the touch as jets of ice ran out from his lover's lips. Draco did not maintain the touch for long, and when he leant on his arms over Harry, he was grinning like the cat with the cream; the only disconcerting thing was that his lips were the palest of blues.

"Oh, now you feel really good," Draco observed, his breath clouding the air as it ran over his lips.

Harry had to admit, although unexpected, the touch had made his libido sit up and really take notice. The response he could feel from Draco also only added to the nice sensations that were already running around his body. Whatever Draco was using, Harry liked it, and even though he was ready for the touch when Draco bent down to his chest once more, the jets sent cascades of pleasure out from their source that dwarfed everything else. As Draco maintained the kiss that moment too long, Harry groaned, goose bumps spreading across his chest and discomfort mixing the heady cocktail that wanted more. Harry wriggled, shrinking away from the ice-kiss, gasping at the stretching of his limits, but his objection was not serious, in fact, his groan became a whine of dissatisfaction when Draco relented. His lover hovered just above Harry's second nipple and, with a laugh, sent cascades of chill air running over the proud flesh: Harry shuddered.

"Shall I, shan't I?" Draco mused and then blew more deliberately over the sensitized, erogenous zone.

Harry trembled again, and his chest muscles flexed reactively. This was sex the Draco way, always close to the edge, never boring, and Harry knew what decision his lover would make. He cried out and reared into the press of lips that made him see stars. Draco fixed himself to the nipple, following each convulsion that Harry made, sending wave after wave of magical winter through his body until surrender was achieved. Harry collapsed back into the mattress, breathing hard, and his senses reaching a strange equilibrium between pain and pleasure. Only then did Draco release the nipple, with a lick of warm tongue that contrasted so greatly with the ice that it blew a few brain cells and caused an expletive.

Ice kisses then played down Harry's chest and over his stomach, making him shift and whine and dance to Draco's tune. It was a hot dance, despite the chill music, and Harry's loins were pulsing with arousal by the time his methodical lover had reached his navel. Warm tongue surrounded by chill lips pressing into his belly button was almost as divisive as the attack on his nipple, and Harry's stomach muscles rippled helplessly as he tried to shrink away from and advance on the touch at the same time. He had long since given up proactive interaction and his fingers wrapped themselves tightly in blanket as all he could do was respond. Draco did not seem to mind that Harry had stopped actively enticing him, in fact, from the way Draco was trembling, and the delicious eddies of magic that Harry could feel from his lover, Draco liked him helpless. Merlin, he liked himself helpless!

Harry ground his teeth, and hissed, and wriggled and then sighed as his sense of touch sent him mad. The contrasts distracted him from all else, until, that was, long, elegant fingers slid underneath his waistband. Anticipation bubbled up through the titillation, and Harry lifted himself into the exploratory touch, making it very clear that he liked where Draco was going. His lover quickly obliged his desires when he chose to go for the manual approach to undoing Harry's flies. Magic was all very well, but sometimes the old-fashioned way had its merits, and Draco stroked his fingers down inside the cloth, between denim and Harry's dark hair as, millimetre by millimetre, he split the fly. Harry looked down his own body at the gradual exposure, a throb of arousal accompanying every shift of cloth on his groin. He could barely stand Draco's apparently infinite patience, and he panted through a growl of frustration.

For that, Draco kissed his already revealed hip bone, and Harry writhed under the extra input. Harry's helpless lifts of his abdomen off the bed were accompanied by the delicious feel of his trousers being slid down his legs, and when Draco relented with the ice, it was to finish the action of removing Harry's clothing. Free of cloth, a thrill ran right up through him as Draco knelt in front of him and very deliberately spread Harry's knees. The couple shared a look: Draco was still smiling, in the wild way he had about him when he was excited, and the fact that his lips matched his eyes only served to intensify Harry's attraction to his feral lover.

Draco's attention flicked from Harry's face to his erection. Harry had asked for Draco to make love to him, and he was more than impressed with the response. Draco had found his place amongst their friends, settling the wild side in public, but Harry wanted that savagery in the privacy of the bedroom. Draco was following his instincts, Draco was probably out of control, and that was the reason that, under his lover's heady gaze, Harry's erection hardened further. Still, it was not his cock that Draco bent to when his attention was finished, and only a strong hold on his knee stopped Harry from widening his spread still further to get away from the ice assault that ran up his leg from just above his kneecap. The sensations ran right through his thigh muscles and their jittering served only to advance his engorged arousal. Harry didn't even try to control the loud, ecstatic moan that came from deep inside his chest.

Heaven and hell resided together for Harry as Draco pushed boundaries; he held his lips against Harry's leg, running his mouth down to the beginnings of Harry's inner thigh. The more sensitive zone flexed involuntarily, and Harry's moan became a sound broken by panting as he tried to absorb the wonderful discomfort without retreating. Eventually, a lick rewarded Harry for his resolve, and he almost came on the spot. Harry flexed his hips and his cry warned of his zenith, but, as his skill allowed, Draco intercepted the response. Grinding his teeth, Harry glared down his body at his lover, whose press of fingers had prevented the ascent into orgasm, but Harry couldn't maintain his momentary ire when he saw the way Draco was flushed and panting as well.

"You can be quite overwhelming sometimes," Draco admitted to him, and Harry collapsed back onto the bed with a short laugh.

Harry was still reeling from the interception of his reactions when Draco showed he had recovered first by planting another kiss further up the already half-assailed thigh. He jerked his leg, but another lick softened the sharp tingles from the ice, and Harry sighed this time. Draco then continued the advance in the same vein all the way up the inside of Harry's leg. Yet, just as he was reaching hallowed ground, which was threatening to make Harry see stars again, his lover stopped. His stomach was tied in knots, and he was trying to hold back his body from coming too soon and breaking the glorious tension, and Harry was taken by surprise when the respite came. He let out a long breath, relaxing into the mattress and, again, glanced at Draco.

Draco was staring fixedly at Harry's dick, which really didn't help Harry's control, but his lover's hands were working quickly on the buttons of his shirt. Quickly, Draco discarded the dark cloth, revealing his pale chest, and then, he reached once more for Harry. Draco lifted Harry's abdomen off the bed, spreading his knees over his shoulders, and, coupled with Draco's engrossed stare, the anticipation was almost too much for Harry. He bit his lip, holding in the heady pressure. Tongue flicked over his balls, testing his self-control, and when Harry replied with a sharp hiss of breath, but no orgasm, ice brushed lightly against his scrotum. Harry flexed and yelled at the effect on his highly erogenous zone, but the shock actually lessened the pressure in his cock a little. He gyrated his hips and arched his back into the almost unbearable sensations, and released some of his disbelief in guttural gasps, but Draco did not relent. Draco was not as aggressive on the sensitive flesh as he had been elsewhere, but he showed no mercy, and as ice mixed with damp warmth, Harry could do nothing but give in to the experience.

Harry was sweaty and so distracted he didn't know which way was up by the time Draco released his balls. Draco let him go, lowering him to rest against his chest, hooked over his lover's shoulders by his knees. Breathing heavily, Harry met a self-satisfied smile and caught up with the mess of sensation that was running through his body. He could not longer distinguish what was magical, and what was physical, let alone what belonged to him and what came from the echoes Draco was feeding him: everything was one hazy cocktail of lust. The mix merely intensified from all sources when, leisurely, Draco reached for his trousers, deftly unzipped and then pushed them down to his knees.

Harry couldn't see how excited his lover was, but he felt released cock rub against his lower back, and knew all the same that it was not merely his own body which was reaching its limits. He moved just enough to tease the head of Draco's erection, enough to make him murmur and grab Harry's hips to steady them both. He stilled at the look of consternation that crossed his partner's features, satisfied with the small revenge and not willing to risk the potent feelings that were running riot within him. After a moment, Draco took hold of his legs once more, sliding them down until he had hold of Harry's ankles, and then Draco slowly and deliberately spread wide the hold. Harry gazed up at his lover, his pulse quickening and his passions firing as he was exposed. Now he could see Draco's arousal, and it was dark with blood: Draco wanted him.

The magical connection grew to more than the echo, and Draco told Harry, "Make us ready."

Harry barely thought about the request, or order (he wasn't sure which it was), he was used to the donation by now, and he took it and let his instincts do the work. Draco's eyes widened as he was slicked by his own magic used by another, and then cock bumped up against ready anus. Gently, but deliberately, Draco pushed against Harry's tight entrance, and, his senses awakening still further, Harry relaxed and accepted the intrusion. This was the intimacy he wanted, and he let out a long sigh of delight as gradually he was filled. Draco's own moan joined Harry's vocalisation in a lust-filled discord, and contrasted strongly with the harmony Harry felt inside. He was as close to his lover as he had ever been, both magically and physically, and essences of the two wizards entwined with their bodies.

Draco moved slowly until he was deep inside and Harry had become used to him. At the same time, the push of magic intermingled with Harry's own being, finding its place. When dick withdrew a way, the magic did not, it merely intensified with Draco's excitement when he returned to the spot he had just left: Harry tensed and smiled through a gasp as the penetration brushed his prostate. After that note of encouragement, his lover grew in confidence and speed. The base of Harry's soul reached for the gift of power being offered to him as eagerly as he reared to meet the physical union. This was not magic for manipulation or control, nor was it part of an experiment or training, it was power freely shared, and, in his own way, Harry gave back of himself to Draco. He did not have the same innate call on his own magic, but he opened himself to allow Draco to take of him if he wished: the trust was more important than whether his lover chose to partake or not, and in truth, Harry would not have been able to tell if he did.

On a physical level, passions were growing in both young men. Harry had to remind himself to breathe as the psychical distracted the physical, and when he did, it was in short pants as his body strained towards climax. He would need no assistance from hand or mouth this time, he was almost bursting with each thrust of dick, and consequently each rise of magic. Draco was also breathing with difficulty, and he was leant a little further over Harry, his gaze locked with Harry's. The way he gasped with each thrust told Harry that his lover was also close to the edge.

"I can feel you Harry, you're ready to come," Draco surprised Harry by articulating himself, albeit through gritted teeth. "Use it, Harry. Mark me, make me yours."

The words didn't make sense to Harry: they sounded like some kind of ecstatic delivery that was not meant to be understood. However, if his higher brain had not comprehended what was being said, his body and soul realised the truth of the sentiment. Any sense left in Draco disappeared into a cry of triumph, he shuddered into Harry and his magic reared in tandem. It was all Harry needed to follow closely on Draco's heels, and he came hard, spurting milky fluid all over his lover's chest. Moreover, his own power surged around their unity and used it as Draco had intended: magic exploded from Harry's body as fast as his cum, and, with a scream, Harry let his instinct do as it wished.

Coming down from the almighty high was faster than the rise into it, and Harry hit ground with his head spinning and not really knowing what had happened. Draco had released his legs, leaving them to fall limply either side of his lover, which had separated them. He was now leaning over Harry, his partner's elbows being the only thing stopping all Draco's weight from being on him. Gasping and shaky, both men just stared at each other for a few moments, and, slowly, Harry saw a daft little smile appearing on Draco's face. As his own senses began to reorder themselves, Harry returned the grin, and, finally, he tipped his head back, and laughed, "Merlin, I'm glad we didn't get visitors."

"Tom might get some complaints from the neighbours, though," Draco chuckled, and shook his head into Harry's chest.

The tickling of his partner's soft hair was delicious, and Harry stroked the crown just below his chin in appreciation, but, as his breathing settled, Draco began to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs. Harry reached after his retreating lover, unwilling to let the closeness go, and Draco paused at arm's reach, accepting the light brush of fingertips on his pec that Harry offered, and they stayed like that a moment, content. Content until Harry's eyes ran appreciatively down over Draco's chest, past Voldemort's black scar, past the sticky fluid Harry had spread over his breast and stomach, and down to past his navel, and then Harry froze. Below the birth indentation, just above the mat of blond pubic hair, Draco's skin had darkened. The mark stood out on his pale, perfect flesh, a shapeless blemish to unknowing eyes, but when he looked, Harry saw a lion's head, which marked him clearly as the perpetrator.

"What is it?" Draco asked, concern wiping his smile.

His lover's gaze followed his own down between them, and Draco quickly ran a hand over the small, but edifying mark. Harry half expected yelling at his assault on Draco's person, and he did not know what to say, so he just watched as his lover's expression went from concern, to opened-mouthed shock. Draco's eyes then darted away from himself and down over Harry's abdomen. Harry propped himself up on his elbows and glanced down his own body, not sure what he was going to find. However, Draco reached out with the hand that was not stroking over the lion mark to the healed knife-scar, and, to Harry's surprise, he was smiling.

"One each," Draco disclosed, and then Harry found himself pushed back onto the bed into a very un-Slytherin show of affection.


	64. The Chase Begins

After the impromptu smooch, Harry performed a quick clean up, and then, together, the couple lay down on the bed and held close. Draco had pulled his trouser back up from around his ankles, but he had left the flies spread open, framing his new mark proudly. However, Harry was having more difficulty accepting what he had done, and he found himself mesmerised by the stain.

For the umpteenth time since they had lain down, Harry ran his eyes over the red-brown collection of pigment, and for the first, he put his hand out and ran his fingers over the skin. It felt like any other part of Draco's smooth skin, a little softer than his own, and there was nothing in the touch to suggest the blemish was even there. Yet he could see it, and his mind kept running back over the moment it had been created. He had placed a mark like he would have written his name inside a book, like an owner, and that didn't sit right with Harry at all. Moreover, scars meant bad things to Harry, pain or association. The lightening scar on his forehead was a bad omen, and a reminder of his parents' deaths. The knife scar had been from a desperate act, and he had not thought of it as a trophy, or even a marker, but now Draco had mentioned it, his associations were changing; in a way, the damage had marked the start of his relationship with Draco, a time when neither had been able to take any more, and they had called a truce. The lion's head, its mane billowing behind its profile, marked (Harry's pessimism couldn't resist the thought) the possible end of that relationship. He had tried to think fulfilment, but the odds favoured end. That idea made Harry sad; he didn't want this joy that had come into his life to end.

Whether Draco did have some mind reading ability hidden in all the magic he possessed, or whether he just had good intuition, Harry discovered that his musings had not gone unnoticed. Draco placed his hand over Harry's, intertwining his fingers and stroking the new shape, and he asked, "What's the matter?"

"Voldemort did the same thing," Harry worded his first concern and glanced up at the black scar over Draco's heart.

"This," Draco snarled at the mention of the darkness and smacked the outrage, "is nothing like this," and he rubbed the lion once more, calming. "I asked you for this Harry, you gave me a gift. I will always have a reminder of you, no matter what happens."

Harry looked across at his lover's face and saw the sincerity there. He squeezed his fingers together, locking Draco's between his own and he repeated, "No matter what happens."

The gaze the couple shared was maudlin, but said everything they couldn't. They had to be strong, to play their part in the huge operation, and it was time to return to the world. Harry held back the sigh that was ready in his throat, and instead leant down and kissed the mark he had made. Then, quickly, he shifted off the bed and collected the clothing he had discarded. Draco dallied a little longer on the mattress, watching him. It was only when Harry had dressed, done up his shirt and pulled on his shoes and was reaching for his wand from the bedside table that Draco moved. He did up his flies and swung his legs off the bed and then, when Harry glanced at him, fixed him with a look. It was a look that said Draco was planning, and it was little too much reality too fast for Harry, so he glanced away again.

"We might get caught," Draco said eventually, and his bluntness made Harry turn back.

"Odds are we will," he agreed, a little relieved to be admitting his worries.

"I've been thinking about some contingencies," his lover offered hope.

Harry didn't ask what, he just waited for the answer.

"Pass me our wands," Draco requested, and held out his hand, into which Harry duly passed the requested items.

Harry watched as Draco gripped the wands loosely, his brow knitted in concentration. He did nothing more for a moment, but then Harry felt his stomach shift. Draco flicked his wrist first one way, then the other, very much like a magician Harry remembered seeing in the garden at one of Dudley's birthday parties when he had been serving drinks. The magic flicked from one side of Harry's stomach to the other in tandem with the hand movement, and then suddenly, the wands weren't in Draco's hand anymore.

"What did you do?" Harry asked urgently, well aware that Draco's spells sometimes went awry.

However, his lover did not look perturbed, and with another double flick of his wrist and power, the wands were back.

"They're always within reach," Draco soothed and explained, "There was this demon that could escape from its enemies by stepping out of this dimension into its own."

"There is no way Voldemort is going to believe that these are real," he indicated to the fake bind runes that were hidden under the cloth wraps on his wrists. "Even if his lackeys don't know about the time limit, he does, and he must know that we've removed them. But, if he doesn't know I have the wands, there is a chance I can use mine, and, whatever it takes, I will find you."

Harry sat down next to his lover and wrapped an arm around him.

"We will survive this," he repeated like an oath.

* * *

Night had not so much fallen, but blinded London with black low cloud and rumbles of thunder. It did not bode well for flying, and Harry stared out at it and commented, "We'll have to fly low tonight."

He turned away from the window and paced back across the room the same way he had for the last eon, well it felt like ages anyway. Harry was tense and nervous, and agitated, even more so because Draco looked absolutely serene sitting cross-legged on the bed in his usual meditation pose.

"Try and calm down," his lover advised without opening his eyes. "You need to concentrate."

"I work best under pressure," Harry snapped back, and then came to a halt as he realised how childish that sounded.

Draco did open his eyes this time, and the look he sent Harry was condescending to say the least. Harry stuck his hands on his hips and glowered, but Draco just raised his eyebrows and reminded him of Dumbledore. It seemed that there was as little point in arguing with Draco as there was with Albus, and since he really didn't have any ammunition, Harry eventually relaxed. He huffed and began pacing again: Draco closed his eyes. However, being on edge had its advantages for Harry, and his senses were on overdrive, so he heard the footfalls that whispered in the corridor outside. People were trying to approach quietly, but the old floor boards of The Leaky Cauldron were non-conducive to such an endeavour. Harry spun and faced the door, and almost immediately, he found Draco stood beside him, poised and alert.

With a flick of his hand towards it, Draco opened the window, and it swung away from them, but the two men remained in the centre of the room. Draco reached in to his pocket and pulled out a small, black bead. It was a binary communication device: each team had two, one black to announce the start of the night's endeavours and one white to announce that it was time to end things. Only two groups had the beads that could start, or stop events: Harry and Draco had the initiator, and Remus had the finisher to say that the prisoners were safely out of Azkaban. The pair looked at each other as the approach stopped outside their door, and then Draco flung the alert against the wall.

Harry watched the bead shatter and a small plume of red smoke rise out of it, but very quickly, that tiny piece of magic was dwarfed by an almighty bang and the bedroom door flew off its hinges. Harry and Draco dived out of the way, and ran for the window. They were both through the escape hatch, left foot first, hand on the owl catch, before the over enthusiastic explosion's smoke had cleared. Harry heard the cry of 'Stupefy' come after them, and he turned to deflect the spell, the red light scattered in a dozen different directions off the tip of his wand, some of it back to the caster, who dived out of the way and knocked some his colleagues back into the room. At that point, Harry was not interested anymore; he took the opportunity of the ensuing chaos to dash away over the rooftop.

Tiles went tripping off behind him as Harry pelted after Draco down the gully between two very steep roofs. The tops of the alley shops were as unique and variable as their frontages, and in the dark, he was just praying that he didn't trip on anything. His heart was in his mouth, and breath was very short as his chest tightened, but his excitement was not all bad. It had begun, it had finally begun, and Harry was determined to run a good race. Hence, when he reached the end of the first roof and found a balustraded walkway going round the end of the building and over to the next, flatter roof, he paused and looked back on their pursuers. The sight was very peculiar, because there was a man almost falling out of the window, but the light from inside was passing right through him, and he looked like he was having problems with the simple step down. When his colleague mishandled him, Harry found out why as the man disappeared on his way through the roof that had been waiting for Harry. Harry concluded he hadn't used the right exit procedures and had hit the ground in the muggle alley behind the pub. His colleague's departure did not seem to phase the Death Eater after him, however, and Harry ducked behind the roof as another stunner came at him.

Draco was waiting for him in the building's shadow, and asked, "How are they doing?"

"If they keep it up, we might have to pretend one of us is injured," Harry shrugged.

Yet, then they both heard tiles slipping, and complaints from their unhappy pursuers.

"Maybe not," Harry concluded, and the pair dashed off.

Convenient the balustrade walk may have been, but it did not last long, and Harry found himself scrambling up over slate on the, thankfully, shallower incline of the next shop. It was up and over or nowhere, and Harry was glad of the cloud cover as he slipped over the exposed ridgeline. Still, a couple of blast hexes came at them, and shards of stone flew in all directions. The debris hit the arm on which Harry was steadying himself, and with a yelp, he let go of the ridge tiles. The roof was unforgiving, and Harry slid down the descent on the other side, out of control and not knowing what was at the bottom of his slip. He grasped wildly for any kind of hand hold, but the friction was all in the wrong direction, and he careered down the slope. The tiles did not go on forever, and Harry crashed heavily into something that, by the sound of it, was metal and severely stressed by his arrival. Whatever had stopped him, it was thin, and his trainers caught in its concave surface, but, for a while, it did at least stop him from falling off the roof. Harry scrabbled to free himself, but one shoe was wedged into what he realised was ancient guttering, and every time he shifted his weight, the rusted old metal whined alarmingly.

"Come on," Draco hissed from where he was holding onto the chimney of the small roof next over.

"I'm stuck," Harry snarled, still trying to extricate his foot from the rickety guttering.

"Push yourself over, I'll pull you out," Draco instructed, at which point, Harry looked down the wall at the top of which he sat.

The gap between the two roofs was about three feet, but it was two stories down between the buildings, two stories of inky blackness. For a moment, Harry considered his options: the Death Eaters, whom he could hear scrambling up the slate, or a potential drop. The drop won, and with a growl of effort, Harry shoved away from the tiles. At that point, the guttering had to bear all his weight, and it was not up to the challenge. Splintering, brittle metal accompanied Harry as he began a descending arc towards the next part of his escape route. Desperately, he reached out to his destination, and was very glad when hands grabbed him and hauled him away from the fall. Draco was swearing under his breath as the couple landed in a heap against the chimney.

There was one good thing about the heart-stopping guttering, its breakage had freed Harry's foot, and so, with only a breath to steady themselves, the escapees were back on their toes and away past the chimney. The brickwork suffered as the slate had, and several sets of tiles after that went the same way, as a multitude of hexes and jinxes rained down from their pursuers. Harry deflected a few, but the pair relied mainly on the darkness to cover their flight. They dodged around weather vanes and gargoyles, over fancy ridge tiles and through chimney smoke, keeping their pursuers at the safest distance possible, until, finally, they were on the roof of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Helpfully, there was a light in the workshop, which lit the small back yard, and its contents. Harry slid down the roof, deliberately this time, and jumped down onto the flat roof of the back room first, while Draco waited to make sure the Death Eaters saw their descent, and then down into the yard. As promised, there they were, two old brooms he recognised from many a Quidditch match, and, feeling like he was meeting a pair of old friends, Harry grabbed them.

Running along rooftops was not in Harry's field of expertise, but flying was, and his confidence took a boost as he considered round one was over, and round two was his speciality. Draco, however, did not look so sure when Harry handed him his ride.

"You never forget," he reminded Draco of Fred's assurance, and then climbed on his broom.

Draco followed suit, and then, with a whoop that he couldn't stop escaping his lips, and a thrill of freedom, Harry kicked off. In seconds, they were above the roof line, and, instantly, a stiff breeze whipped through Harry's hair: he smiled. Even when he heard shouts from below and several curses shook the air around him, nothing could shake the confidence in the flier as he soared into his element. He glanced back to see Draco climbing behind him, a look of grim determination on his face and he knew that the twins had selected the right escape route for them. Harry flew in a tight circle a couple of times, making himself the target for those below as Draco grew used to broom flight once more, but from the way his lover's shoulders were straightening out as he rose steadily to join him, Harry knew that Fred had been right. He played cat and mouse with the Death Eaters for a little while longer, sending a few blasts back at the rooftop, but then it was time to leave.

"Okay?" he asked as Draco levelled next to him.

"I will be," Draco returned with a firm nod.

As dark shapes lurched out of the backyard into the air after them, the two seekers lent over their brooms and hightailed it out of the vicinity with the cries of unexpected acrobats filling their ears.

* * *

They flew low over the roofs of London, sometimes a little too close in Harry's case as his exuberance at being in the air again got the better of him. After one near miss of a TV aerial too many, Draco had hauled Harry up to a couple of metres above the tiles, and the seeker had had to content himself with the dark shadows whipping past underneath his flight at the greater distance. The free flow of air around him was invigorating to Harry, and for Draco as well, or so Harry thought, given that there was the occasional near miss on his lover's part as well. For a while, it almost didn't matter why they were up in the darkness, flying above the roof line, but below the clouds: it was just wizard against sky, but the thought of the hundreds of fliers who would soon be after them never quite left Harry. He was ready when their deliberately exposed position drew attention from a gaggle of dark shapes, who descended from above them like bats, dark wings of cloth gaping out behind them.

"This way," Draco called and dove down into a rough-looking road where all the street lamps had been broken.

Harry quickly followed, skimming the tarmac with his broom's brush as he ducked away from a pretty accurate blasting hex. He'd had worse from bludgers, and he wasn't about to fall off, but that didn't mean Harry's heart didn't enter his throat as he wobbled and searched for equilibrium. People were shouting orders behind him, and without looking, with instincts honed on a safer pitch, Harry judged the positions of his pursuers. They were closing in, moving too fast if the way their voices were getting louder was anything to go by, and Harry noted with satisfaction when there was a thud, a grunt and the snapping of wood: one down. However, there was no time for self-congratulations, and, gripping his broom firmly, Harry accelerated after Draco.

The night air was damp and chilly; it cut through Harry's thin shirt, and he longed for his cloak, but it would have looked too staged to have been waiting for their visitors fully dressed. He gritted his teeth and ignored the icy tug on his body, concentrating on the breakneck speed at which he was skirting the ground. At this level the Death Eaters could not get a clear view of them, since there were cars and wheelie bins scattered all down the street. However, the obstructions down the street came looming out of the gloom with only a second's warning for Harry as well. It was a dangerous obstacle course.

There was another thud and the shattering of glass and the bending of metal this time and the groan that came from the witch who had collided with Muggle transport sounded much more serious than her companion's had moments earlier. This time Harry did glance back in morbid curiosity, but he could not make one dark shape out from another. The move would not have cost him had not a spell exploded at his shoulder simultaneously, and he swerved left. By the time Harry had righted himself and turned his attention back to his own path, he was coming up on a vehicle of his own. There was only one way out, with a cry of shock, Harry pulled back on the broom handle and headed up.

As soon as he was out of cover, Harry was a target and a swathe of spells came at him from the waiting Death Eaters. Bright lights of varying hues blinded him as they flashed past him, and some close calls threatened to unseat him, forcing him to lean over his broom and hang on, but nothing, thankfully, hit him. Harry just clung to his transport and ascended, too steeply, his aim no more than to make it clear from the attack. Spots were floating in front of his eyes, and it wasn't until he slammed into an object that he realised there was a dark-cloaked enemy in his way. Harry was hanging on to his broom so tightly that he might as well have been part of it. His unwitting target was not so lucky, and there was much flapping of wing-like cloak and yelling as the man slid sideways off his broom. Harry was rather glad he wasn't wearing his cloak this time, since it made it far more difficult for the man to grab hold of anything, and his shirt just ripped where the Death Eater dug his fingers into the shoulder.

Handling his broom with the expertise of the Quidditch pitch, Harry reared away from the desperate reaching, coming to a stop a few feet away. The Death Eater had been lucky enough to become entangled with the broom handle, and was hanging from it by one leg and half a cloak. For a moment, Harry considered kicking out and finishing his enemy: it would have been so easy. But he didn't, instead he just stared, hard, and positioned himself so that his flailing opponent was between him and the majority of the man's colleagues.

Still, out in the open was not a good place to be, and some of the Death Eater's colleagues did not seem to care that he was in the way, because a hail of attacks came at him anyway. Harry heard his shield groan as some unnamed spell hit him, and from his tone, it was not a nice effect, but, scanning for an escape route, he resolutely stayed put. When the stunner hit the man and his feeble attempt at staying on his broom ended, the callousness of his colleagues was too much for Harry, and he reached out to grab at the limp shape that began to descend. However, there was little chance of him saving the man, and cloth slipped between his fingers rapidly, burning his skin with its speed, and he was forced to let go. He watched regretfully for a moment as broom and wizard plunged into the darkness below him, but his pity for his enemy did not come before his own hide, and, as the other attackers took advantage of a clear aim, Harry dove back down to earth.

A streak of white blond hair shooting out of the murky street warned Harry that Draco was approaching, and he altered his course to fall in beside a very rapid retreat. They sped off, side by side, their pursuers hot on their tails.

"The river's over here," Draco yelled, the wind whipping away his words.

"How do you know?" Harry shouted back, following his lover's lead anyway.

"Can feel it," came the reply, and there was no time for further clarification, because, at the speed they were travelling, in a matter of seconds they had left housing behind, passed through open, factory land, and then they dropped down almost onto the surface of the Thames.

The water opened up in front of them, wide and restless, and, almost instantly, Draco began weaving wide arcs along their path. Harry followed suit, his teeth gritted against the cold, and his heart pumping adrenaline so fast he thought his chest might burst. The thrill of the chase ran through him, even as he played the quarry. The water moving below him and the air ripping his nerves to shreds held a strange, protective euphoria for Harry, and he embraced the altered state in favour of the fear that was still sitting in the pit of his stomach. He dodged and weaved down the centre of the wide river where the lights from the shore could not reach, making a small, fast, shadowy target.

The water popped and fizzled widely around him when their pursuers made it onto the water, but Harry was aggrieved to discover that Draco's white mane was making him a better target. The speed at which he was going made manoeuvring difficult, and one slip would have seen him bounce across the water like a stone, but this was not a time for caution, so Harry let go of the broom with one hand, his Seeker training instantly shifting his weight to compensate for the lack of security. Instead of reaching out for a little golden ball, Harry reached up his sleeve for his wand. Careering forward, Harry then looked backward, took a quick survey of the location of their chasers, like he would have done the players on the Quidditch pitch, and then he fired off a quick volley of stunners and blasters.

There were several yells and some splashes, as Harry's familiarity with broom and speed allowed him to be significantly more accurate than the Death Eaters, and the rain of spells on Draco eased enough that his lover had breathing room to feint to one side of a slow-moving barge while their closest pursuers were forced down the other side. Harry stowed his wand once more and urged all he could from his broom.

The further up river they went, the more traffic on the water; this meant less spells flying at them, but when he had to fly so low his shoe laces got wet, to avoid the eyes of party-goers on a leisure cruise, Harry decided the dangers out-weighed the merits. When they had a few moments of open water, Harry caught Draco's eye and waved him up. They were nearly on tower bridge, and, with a nod of agreement from Draco, the pair ascended rapidly up and over the structure. Harry hoped he heard more thuds and swearing behind him, but with the city noise, he couldn't be sure. Still, he was not optimistic enough to think that the many who had fallen in the chase would not be replaced and then some. The whole of London had to be on the alert by now, just as they wanted it, and, as if to prove the point, as the fugitives darted off the river and over dry land, there were shouts from left and right.

Draco glanced at Harry, and decided, "Time to change tack."

They had been flying, on water and off for quite a while, the chill in Harry's bones told him that, and he nodded his agreement. Quickly, using a group of trees as cover, the couple descended to ground.

Harry's legs wobbled as he climbed off the broom, telling him just how long they had been flying: he felt like he did after a difficult Quidditch game. He patted his mount, a small thank you for its speed and agility, which earned him a raised eyebrow from Draco. He just smiled and took the second broom from his lover and stowed them carefully under a bench that was sat below the trees.

"Celo," Harry heard and stepped out of the way rapidly.

The brooms shimmered and then didn't quite disappear; they more matched the colour of their background. Harry looked at his lover, his honourable side supposing that Draco had cast the concealment charm for the sake of protecting the twin's property, but when he saw the look of pure joy on Draco's face and his wand in his hand, the practical part of Harry knew that it had much more to do with using the new tool. However, the satisfaction flickered and disappeared with the urgency of the situation, and Harry drew his wand. The couple had discussed apparation as an escape mechanism when formulating their diversion: they had decided that Harry would apparate, with donated power from Draco, since Draco was not sure about the splinching issue. They had also discussed the implications of using the spell: given the detection grid that the New Ministry had placed over Britain, outside a warded building, it would be like lighting a flare pinpointing their position, which was the point, but it would also make their escape times very slim (the Resistance had measured response times on apparition detection and they were in the tens of seconds). Apparition was also hard work, and once they began, it was unlikely they would be able to stop using said escape mechanism, given the time limits.

Draco stowed his wand and held out his hand, Harry took firm hold of the offered palm. Magic flowed directly up his arm, and, with a deep breath, he concentrated on leaving London. He felt the pull of the detection net almost immediately as it closed in on his magic. It was an odious feeling, suffocating and intrusive on magic that was highly personal. It was designed to distract as well as detect, Ron had warned him, and it would splinch an unauthorised appartor if it could, but forewarned was forearmed, and Harry pushed through it. Still, he was breathing hard when they reappeared in the real world and his vision swum a little: regretfully, he realised that it was going to be even harder work to move from place to place than he had considered.

Draco still had a strong hold of him, and as Harry swayed, he asked anxiously, "Are you alright?"

"That was unpleasant," he replied, shaking his head to clear the effects.

"Okay, you can look like you're waving you wand, but we take turns from now on," Draco decided, and Harry wasn't arguing. "Come on," Draco finished, and pulled hard on Harry's arm.

It took Harry another few seconds to realise that they were in a field in the middle of nowhere, which was odd, because he thought he had been concentrating on Ottery St Catchpole, a village he knew well thanks to the Weasleys, and one in which he could have played hide and seek with any Death Eater, but he didn't recognise this place at all. Still, he just thanked his lucky stars that they weren't splinched and began to gather speed as their complete lack of cover impinged on his groggy senses. He was running at full pelt by the time cracks echoed in the still night air from all around. There was no storm here, and the half crescent of the moon lit up the entire area, so that Harry and Draco could see their enemies clearly appearing from left and right and in front. This, of course, meant that their enemies could also see them, and as the pair spun on their heels, several spells lanced from well-aimed wands.

Harry blocked some of the attacks, and they just ducked under others, but very quickly, Draco announced, "Wave you wand and hang on."

Feeling that it was going to be a very long night, Harry did as he was told and felt the lurch in his stomach as Draco worked magic.


	65. Home is where the Heartbreak Is

Three rough apparations in quick succession and several very close calls with spells later, the fugitives finally found themselves undercover. Having grown swiftly accustomed to the detection grid, they came out of the transportation at a run, and almost ran into a large tree. They were in woodland, and, with a quick look around, Harry decided that their near head-on would be a good place to go to ground.

"Up," he indicated, grabbing the nearest branch and beginning to haul himself into the tree.

"I haven't done this since I was nine," Draco growled as he followed swiftly behind.

However, as with the broom flying, Draco showed no lack of dexterity due to the length of time between excursions into trees. In a few seconds, the two young men were up in the mid branches of the tree. However, there was an issue, it was Autumn, and the foliage of the tree had reduced significantly, leaving them very little cover if anyone chose to look up. Harry began to regret his want for a rest. However, when he glanced at his lover to gauge his reaction, there was no such concern from him, in fact, he was eying the branches below with an attention that Harry couldn't fathom to begin with. It was only when Draco muttered unconsciously under his breath, "You don't mind?" that Harry began to realise that Draco was not just looking at the tree. He hadn't felt any shift in magic, and, in the darkness, Harry had not noticed the green tinge appear on Draco's skin, but he watched, once again in awe of Ilexa's natural magic, as Draco reached out and ran his hands over the bark.

"Thank you," he murmured, again like an after thought, and Harry knew the majority of the meaning was in Draco's head, not his words.

Draco closed his eyes, his body flattened against the tree, almost moulded to it, and then Harry did feel the lurch of magic. In front of his eyes, Harry then saw nature accelerate through the Winter and out the other side. The remaining leaves fell from the branches immediately below them, and the dryness of winter bark peeled away. Then, in a heartbeat, the buds of Spring sprouted from the old wood, and a blanket of fresh, green leaves appeared between the fugitives and the ground. The area affected was just enough to hide the humans above it, and, grateful in his own way, Harry patted the tree and offered his thanks. Draco opened his eyes at the wrong moment, and the look of condescension he sent Harry made him feel like a fool, but he just shrugged: so he couldn't talk to trees, but that didn't mean he wasn't thankful. There was no time for comment, because the cracks of apparations announced their pursuers' arrivals, and the hiders crouched down close against the tree above their disguise.

Harry dared not peak round the small canopy, so he listened instead; he had heard twenty pops before their frequency made him lose count, so he guessed at around forty by the time the majority ended. That was good news for the diversion; it meant that they had gained a lot of attention already: they had the Death Eaters on alert. However, it was also daunting. Harry had no idea how large or small this wood was, or how long it was going to take for someone to make more than a cursory glance upwards. When footsteps crunched on leaf litter just below their tree, he held his breath.

"Dammit," a woman swore, "they can't have apparated away, we'd have detected it."

"They must be here somewhere," a man added, his voice gruff and low and annoyed.

"Unless they found another way out," a second man joined in thinly.

"No!" the woman was adamant, and sounded scared as she said that, and she reinforced Harry's interpretation when she added, "We can't have lost them, the Master will have our hides."

"Round up your people, we'll make a structured search, and signal for another two patrols, they will not get away from us," the first male Enforcer sounded more practical than his companions.

"What about the potion's lab attack, they need the people?" the pessimistic man countered.

"You heard the Master, just a diversion to keep us away from these two, the Resistance is as desperate to find their precious little runaways as we are," the other man snapped back, surprising and pleasing Harry with the unexpected conclusion.

As the three hunters moved off in different directions, calling to their subordinates, Harry let out a long, silent breath and relaxed for a moment. When he glanced at his companion, Draco was smiling, and, slowly, he drew his wand from his sleeve. The conversation below had obviously done more for Draco than please him, his confidence had clearly taken a boost, and Harry was a little concerned by the set to his lover's features: it meant trouble. Draco rolled his wand between his fingers and whispered, "How about a little offensive?"

"You heard them, two more patrols, that's sixty Enforcers," Harry pointed out, not at all sure about the suggestion: part of him wanted to take a few strikes out of their pursuers in return for the burn marks that ran across the front of his shirt, but another wanted to just sit tight for as long as possible and appreciate the respite.

"Well, you can take ten and I'll have the other fifty," Draco quipped back, his grin growing wider at Harry's reservations.

Harry said nothing and the status quo held in his indecision for a few moments, but Draco's wild side was controlling his decisions, that much Harry could see, and, in the end, Draco took the lead. He shifted from his crouch against the trunk, leaning out round the small canopy and scanning the ground. Harry recognised the need to master the situation in Draco, it was as clear as it had been during the rune removal, and Harry understood it, but he didn't trust it. His caution made him reach out, and he took hold of Draco's sleeve at the shoulder, raking the cloth firmly between his fingers. Draco started and glared at him, but Harry was not going to back down as he warned in a hiss, "No risks, we have to keep this going."

Draco frowned and huffed and shrugged his way out of the hold, but Harry knew his words had interrupted the anarchic path Draco's thoughts had taken and his lover was not going to jump out of the tree just yet. Still, there was no way to completely stop Draco's impulses, Harry had found that out on many an occasion, and he continued to compromise, "We stay low, and we only take out those we can without drawing too much attention. If they find us, we apparate."

Draco's smile came back, his eyes glistening in the dappled moonlight that fell through the thinning trees. His lover nodded and then leant forward, and Harry found himself in a quick kiss. His heart leapt in pleasant surprise, but the moment was over by the time he responded, and he was left with a small adrenaline rush he couldn't channel into the embrace. It was a mildly frustrated feeling, and Draco saw it as he grinned wider still and whispered, "Save your energy for them. Come on."

With that, Draco was gone, and Harry leapt down to the woodland floor after him. He landed beside his lover and sunk into a crouch almost immediately, pulling Draco down with him. Draco came reluctantly, and his look said he was purely indulging Harry's paranoia, but Harry gave him a hard stare in return, reinforcing his earlier warning. Eventually, Draco rolled his eyes and tutted, but Harry knew he had won for now. During the planning stages, he had not considered keeping Draco in reign as a high priority, but it appeared that the Dark Prince had managed to gloss over some of his feral instincts and, under stress, the layers of civilisation were peeling off rapidly. It was very difficult to hold Draco back, especially since Harry wanted to do some damage of his own.

As Draco moved off towards the undergrowth, Harry watched a moment and wondered if indulging the wilder wants had been the wrong decision.

* * *

Given that there was upwards of sixty people looking for them, it was in fact quite difficult to find the first, but when the new hunters did find their quarry, he was a lone wolf who did not look like he would ever make pack alpha. The man was hunched over, and nervous-looking, his eyes darting everywhere at the slightest noise. He was far too distracted by the natural noises of the wood to be any threat at all, and so Harry, considering him a safe target, let Draco loose. An attack dog would have been kinder on the weak-minded fool, who almost fainted at the sight of the Dark Prince coming at him from the gloom. He didn't yell, didn't even raise his wand, and he went down in a dazed heap as Draco fired a stunner at him.

Harry didn't like the look on Draco's face as he stood over his opponent, it spoke of Hogwarts and before he had tamed the Heir. He walked up beside Draco and drew his attention by placing a hand on his arm and trying to break the tableau. However, the fire that was burning in Draco's eyes when he turned to Harry was anything but comforting, and Harry's spine turned to ice when he heard, "He was too easy."

"This is not a game," Harry snarled, forcefully turning Draco all the way away from the fallen man by steeling his grip on his arm.

"Then what is it?" Draco snapped back, the stress showing.

"There are people relying on us," Harry reminded him in a low, but menacing whisper, and he entered another staring contest.

This time there was no roll of eyes, Draco just turned away and looked back down on his victim. Harry didn't feel like he had won very much, in fact, the loss that replaced the rebellious edge in Draco's profile made him wonder if he was being too harsh. He'd been taken in by another one of Draco's protective mask, and breaking it inspired guilt in Harry. However, now was not the time for mulling over feelings, and the sound of feet tramping the leaf litter, and coming their way made the disagreement feel childish. The auditory warning snapped both young men out of their momentary disquiet, and, with a look, they headed off at a trot.

Shortly, there were shouts behind them, and the light of wands filled the trees behind them. Harry glanced over his shoulder at it and then across at Draco, who was running beside him. The mask was back in place: Draco was surviving this the best way he could, and, although Harry didn't like it, he saw through it and knew the man behind it would not betray him or let him down. At that moment, Harry stopped worrying about Draco, and returned to concentrating on himself.

Harry had spent many an evening diving around woodland on manoeuvres with his fellow Auror trainees, capturing this flag, or that prisoner, and he'd been good at it. He tuned in the senses he'd used during those games and put them to work. There was a group of people behind them, that was obvious, and, if he was not mistaken, one or two close on their left: he veered their journey right, through neck-high, damp and browning bracken, much to Draco's disgust, but when his lover heard the two groups meeting up only yards behind them, he nodded his acknowledgement of the tactic. The Enforcers did not follow.

The bracken announced the thinning of the trees into a large clearing, and, the moon shining down on them, Harry and Draco ducked down below the level of their cover and headed round the edge of the open space. Their next encounter came from darkness into the silver light a few metres ahead of their position: two young Enforcers headed boldly out into the clearing proper, wands drawn, eyes scanning their immediate vicinity. These were not little men scared of the dark, they were clear enthusiasts for their trade, and Harry took an instant dislike to the hard-faced opponent nearest him due to an uncanny resemblance to Dudley. His expression must have been easy to read, because Draco, on one glance, indicated from Harry to the Dudley look-a-like and patted his own chest while tipping his head towards the other searcher. Harry nodded his consent and in a heartbeat, he attacked. Draco was no slower, but these two were well-trained, and retaliatory spells came at the couple as soon as they revealed themselves. Harry's offensive left his opponent on the floor before he deflected the hex badly aimed at him, but Draco had more of a task as the Enforcer deflected and fought back. This one did yell, and only a quick stunner from Harry shut him up. Draco was holding his wand arm when Harry turned to pay him proper attention.

"Come on," Draco ignored his concern and began to run; people had heard the cry for assistance, and there were lights coming from the trees all around the clearing.

Spells joined the lights as Draco led the flight back into the bracken, and Harry knew there was no choice, he reached out, grabbed his lover and waved his wand, leaving the wood ringing with the crack of their apparation.

* * *

Draco was hurt, how badly Harry didn't get a chance to check for a long time. They ducked and dived at each location for as long as possible, but it was almost as if there were people waiting for them each time they stepped into a new place, and the couple were forced to apparate in quick succession for what seemed like eternity. Exhausted and disoriented by the detector grid, finally Draco apparated them into a garden and there was no-one around. It took Harry a long moment to get his bearings: rose bed behind, statue on right, steps to left, leading down into an open space and a house beyond, and a large hedge to the front. Harry would have run down the steps, the clearest means of escape, but Draco grabbed him and pulled him towards the hedge, which had to be ten feet high. However, all was not as obstructive as it seemed, and Draco called, "Open up, it's me."

In front of his eyes, Harry saw the hedge start to part, and the pair darted between its foliage. There was another great hedge only feet in front of them, creating a tall corridor topped by the sky. Harry would have picked a direction and run, but as the barrier closed behind them, Draco dropped to his knees. Harry immediately slid down beside him, reaching out, but Draco grunted and pulled away as his hand touched shoulder. It was dingy between the great hedges, and Harry could not see much, but he could feel that his fingers were wet, and he smelt blood.

"How bad is it?" he asked, adjusting his reach and pulling his companion into his body for support.

"Cut's superficial," Draco replied, but grunted with pain before he continued, "but the bastard must have used some kind of infectious magic in his spell. It hurts like hell and I need time to clear it."

The Contagio Malefica came instantly to mind, and Harry only just resisted the urge to swear. They did not have hours for Draco's magic to fight an infection.

"It's not as bad as that," Draco read his mind. Still, he leant against Harry, and his muscles felt weak as he continued, "A few minutes, just to concentrate on something other than running."

Harry didn't like having an incapacitated partner, but it was clear they were not going anywhere for a while, so he settled the position he was in, steadying them both, and decided to be practical. He'd feel better if he at least knew where he was, so he asked, "Where have we landed?"

"Home," Draco answered quietly; the tones in his voice sounded mixed to Harry and he couldn't see Draco's face properly to gauge if his lover was happy or sad.

"Malfoy Manor?" Harry clarified, and the big house he had only half seen began to gain an identity.

"None other," his companion returned, and this time Harry recognised the small laugh he gave as being sad.

"Did you have a yen for the old place, or was there a better reason?" Harry listened to his own caustic wit, not quite believing how fast Draco had rubbed off on him.

"I knew I could hide here," Draco answered simply, no masks, or anything else in his answer, and he just sounded tired.

Harry hugged him closer.

* * *

The couple sat in silence for a long while. Harry listened attentively to Draco's breathing, the smooth breaths that were interspersed with hiccups and hisses of pain; at those times, he held Draco tighter, let him use his arm as a grip. There were other sounds around them as well, apparation cracks and urgent voices barking orders, but no-one disturbed the dark corridor in which they hid. As Draco had expected, Harry supposed, to a wizard, or witch, every Enforcer thought the hedge was solid and had run off down the steps into the Manor's gardens. A hedge that would open up in response to such an off-hand comment spoke of familiarity that Draco had not shown with the oak tree, and Harry did not think this was linked to Ilexa's magic. However, he held onto his curiosity until Draco's breathing had evened out, and the sounds of their pursuers had moved away.

"So where exactly are we?" Harry finally asked.

Draco sniggered to himself.

"The Malfoy Insoluble Maze, created by my Great Great Great Grandfather Indago. After he made it, he spent the rest of his life trying to solve it, but neither he, nor anyone since has been able to work out their way to the middle," Draco answered, and added with a quip in his voice that, thankfully, to Harry spoke of recovery, "I beat it when I was nine."

"But I thought you said it was unsolvable," the query had to be made.

"I said I beat it, I didn't say I solved it," his lover answered, with characteristic Slytherin subtlety. "I had the gardener feed the hedges with a potion made of my blood, which meant I could get them to do what I asked."

"Hence the 'Open up, it's me'," Harry returned, rather impressed by a nine-year-old's deviousness.

"Exactly," Draco nodded, but then he sat away and his tone grew cold as he finished, "Lucius was rather proud of me for that."

They fell into silence again, difficult and chilly. Yet, Harry was not going to allow the doldrums to get in the way of what they had to do.

"Feeling better?" he broke the stillness with practicality, rubbing his hand on his lover's shoulder despite the matter-of-factness in his tone.

"Hmm," was all Draco replied, and Harry took it as the affirmative.

Harry stood up and held out his hand to his companion. In the darkness, Harry wasn't sure if Draco actually physically shook himself, but when he took the offered grasp and stood up, whatever he had done, mental, or physical, had had the comparative effect.

"Right," Draco announced, actually walking left, "I used to play hide and seek with the house elves for hours in this garden, Enforcers just don't compare. Follow me."

* * *

Harry followed blindly as Draco led them round corners, through hedges and even through the centre of the maze, which didn't hold any treasures, just a bust of Grandfather Indago. A handful of intrepid Death Eaters had entered the maze, much to Draco's delight, because, he said, they could be trapped for days before the hedges spat them out. Harry floored one wizard with a body bind, and Draco took out another two, and the Maze itself revealed it had teeth when another man fell victim to an innocuous-looking statue of a dragon that turned out to really breathe fire; the man had gone running off with his cloak and hair on fire. The fugitives then left the rest of the explorers to the maze, and walked through an outside hedge into a private formal garden.

As they left the private world of the maze, there were shouts from what Harry thought was the far side of the ingenious construction. Well, it was actually screaming as well as shouting and Draco observed, "Looks like the dragon victim has made it out then. Good, he'll tell them he found us and they'll spend hours in that maze looking for us."

With that, Draco set off in between the smaller, ornately cut bushes and neatly kept flower beds of the intricate garden. Harry had seen a Muggle garden like this when Aunt Petunia had grudgingly dragged him along on an outing to Hampton Court. However, as usual, a wizarding equivalent had added extras. Herbology had provided Harry with a magical insight into plants, but they were mainly for use in potions and spells, and he had never encountered the decorative side of wizarding flora. He was surprised, when, on brushing against a tall, foxglove-like plant, the bell-shaped flowers tinkled lightly into the Autumn air. It would have sounded lovely on a peaceful Summer's day, but in the Autumn evening, it rang out far too easily.

Draco spun on his heel, gave Harry a dark look, grabbed him by the wrist and then charged off, away from the disturbance. However, the garden may have been small compared to the expanse Harry had seen on arrival, but it was not small enough for the pair to have disappeared around its surrounding hedge by the time their chasers had arrived to investigate the noise. Harry deflected several spells without really thinking and popped off a couple of his own as Auror combat training kicked in, but the Enforcers were well-trained, and his hexes were equally well deflected, so Harry and Draco ducked around the garden boundary with half a dozen Death Eaters running after them.

Surrounded by privet hedge, Harry had not been aware of how far up the garden they had come during their exploration, so when they skidded down steps onto a lawn and the Manor's three stories towered over them, it was something of an impressive shock. The light grey Wiltshire stone shone silver in the moonlight and gold where light slipped out from behind thick curtains. For a second, Harry stared up at it and wondered at the grandeur that his lover had called home. However, a moment was all that was allowed by the swiftly unfolding chase, and, still in Draco's clutches, Harry found himself being dragged right up to the house's foundations and then back in the direction they had come, down the shadow created by the looming building.

The raised garden from which they had come cast its own shadows, and quickly, Harry was blinded by the gloom. He relied on Draco to guide him, running in his lover's footsteps, following him closely round the corner of the house. As they turned ninety degrees, they also went from grass to hard standing, and into a yard surrounded by a group of buildings. The main house had an entrance to their left, and sheds faced the doorway, some small with all manner of utensils stacked in front of them, clearly for creatures the size of house elves, but others were human-sized. It wasn't till they dashed past one doorway and Harry heard whinnying that he realised that the larger buildings were in fact stables. He still wouldn't have paid the long block anymore attention than that, but as they were running past an open door, lights from wands appeared from the other end of the yard and Draco dived into the opening. Harry followed, landing in a pile of straw, thankfully without horse; he also thudded up against the wall, and realised that there was no way out.

It was too late to reconsider; they were trapped as hunters from both directions congregated in the yard. Harry held his breath and listened.

"They came this way, I'm sure of it," one man was announcing loudly.

"Well, they didn't come past us," another returned.

"Alright, everybody fan out, they have to be in one of these buildings somewhere," a more authoritative voice ordered, and Harry's heart sank.

He took firm hold of his wand and began to go over spells: he was not going down without a fight. However, before the search could begin, events took a different turn. Draco was knelt beside Harry, poised and alert, but Harry felt him tense as a woman's voice joined the hubbub outside.

"What in the Dark Lord's name is going on out here?" Harry recognised Narcissa Malfoy's superior tone cut right through the noise.

"We are searching for fugitives, Ma'am," the Death Eater in charge immediately informed her, sounding deferential.

"I know which fugitives you seek, Master Enforcer," Narcissa cut back, and Harry felt Draco shudder. "Do not play games with me."

"No Ma'am," the man returned, "I apologise."

"Why are you disturbing my horses?" the lady of the manor pressed her authority home, and Harry sunk back into the shadows when he saw Narcissa for the first time in many years as she swished into place between the Death Eaters and the door of their hiding place.

"We believe that Potter and your son are hiding here somewhere," the conversation continued, the man beginning to sound impatient.

Narcissa laughed, which surprised Harry, but her tone held no amusement.

"My son knows these grounds like the back of his hand; you really believe he would corner himself here?" the woman taunted, and her child shivered again.

Harry laid a hand on Draco's arm, but he didn't know if his lover even felt it, since his attention was very definitely on the back the tall, graceful woman who was stood between them and capture.

"You have been deceived, and you are doing no more here than causing my animals to be upset," Narcissa began to sound angry; she was not as impressive as her husband, or her son, but the indignation did its job.

"Yes, Ma'am," the Death Eater was defeated.

"Oh, and you may consider my house out of bounds," Narcissa added, a strange comment, Harry thought, until she added, "My house elves would have informed me if they had seen my son, and more importantly, they are bound to inform my husband as well."

The information was not for the Death Eaters, it was for Draco, a clear warning, and Harry's respect for the grey figure of Narcissa Malfoy grew just a little.

"Now, go," Narcissa ordered.

There was the sound of much shuffling of feet on stone, and mutterings about where to look next, but it all died away, leaving the silence of a mother standing guard over her son. Narcissa was lit by light streaming out of the now open doorway of the house, her pale hair showing golds in the orange light, and her rich, black evening dress sparkling. Harry watched her almost as intently as Draco, who was fixated, just waiting for the next move. When it happened, Harry couldn't help himself, he started, as, very quickly, Narcissa looked over her shoulder into the gloom. Harry sunk back, away from Draco as he recognised a moment between mother and son. To him, the sadness in both people was tangible, but their expressions were both unreadable. He thought he saw guilt in Narcissa's gaze, but he could not be sure, and Draco's stare was almost angry. Neither Malfoy said anything, and Harry was not about to break the silence, so, after holding the look for a moment, Narcissa broke away from it with only the swish of the fabric of her gown to accompany her.

Draco was taut when Harry risked reaching out to him again. He still didn't react, not at first, not until Harry rubbed his palm over his companion's sleeve, then, with a whine from the back of his throat, Draco sunk into a ball at the base of the wall, covering his face with his hands. Instantly, Harry leant forward and wrapped himself around his lover. Draco started to shake in his arms, and Harry buried quiet, difficult sobs into his shoulder.


	66. The Consequences of Success

Draco said nothing when his sobs came to an end; he just pushed Harry away and wiped his face on his sleeve. They were both exhausted, and so Harry didn't force a conversation, it could wait until the chase was over. He began to stand up to prepare himself for the next leg of their diversion. However, Draco did not follow as quickly, in fact, he began to fumble with his pocket. It had been such a hectic journey, Harry had almost forgotten about the communication bead, but his heart leapt as, when Draco pulled it from his pocket, it disintegrated and announced that the mission was over.

"They did it," he breathed happily, a grin spreading out over his features.

The Muggle-borns were free.

It was time to make good their escape, and Harry pulled a much happier Draco to his feet. Darkness once more covered the courtyard when they ventured cautiously out. Any lights from that side of the house had been extinguished, deliberately, Harry guessed, and the pair headed towards the front of the Manor. No more pretending and feigning bindings to confuse their pursuers, both Harry and Draco held their wands ready for use. They were not planning an offensive this time, but with a horde of Enforcers between them and slipping away into the night, Harry knew they were bound to meet a least a few. He rubbed the holly wood in his hand, reminding himself of it one more time, preparing for a fight. However, nothing could have prepared him for the devastating impact of Expelliarmus that came from three different directions at once and hit him full force. An equal amount of stunners missed as the force of the disarming spells threw Harry backwards. His wand flew out of his hand, which convulsed with the sheer volume of painful magic that hit it, and Harry landed in a heap on the stone paving, dazed like he had been hit by half a stunner.

Harry had enough sense left to try and scrabble to his feet, but his coordination wasn't helped by the almighty lurching of his stomach as Draco fared better than himself. Draco's natural shielding came into play, and Harry felt Draco open the connection between them, as he had in the Mess. The link saved Harry from yet another stunner which came at him and bounced off, but he went sprawling out of the sitting position he had managed, gasping for breath. Spells were flying everywhere over his head, colours, bangs, claps, and all Harry could do was stare up at them, barely able to move. His inactivity saved him from any further attacks, but watching was little better.

They were surrounded: the Master Enforcer had not been quite so deferential as he had pretended to be, and, although Harry watched with no little pride as Draco fought half a dozen opponents at a go, he could see defeat in front of them. Draco was strong, but when six fighters fell back, another dozen replaced them, and he could not deflect everything. Harry tried to sit up again as his lover cried out in pain, but he could not hold his own weight, and he collapsed back onto the paving slabs, panting with the wasted effort. He ground his teeth and growled searching for the strength to move as, desperately, he watched the united attack on Draco. The stroke that had caused the pain had been mere distraction, and it did its job, because Harry felt his lover's magic convulse as more spells broke through his shields. Draco turned and fell to his knees.

Harry reached out a hand to him, as Draco crawled towards him, but the reign of spells did not stop, and he could only watch and sound his complaint as Draco arched his back and screamed at some nameless attack. Still, Draco pushed his body forward, toppling onto Harry's chest, his wand arm trapped between them.

"I love you," Draco whispered, his teeth gritted against the pain he was clearly in, and Harry felt his companion's hand move between them.

A wave of magic told him that Draco's wand was now out of Death Eater reach, and with a smile for small victories, he replied, "I love you too."

Bodies closed in around them, red light lit the night, and then Harry felt his lover tense as oblivion swiftly descended.

* * *

"-arry! Harry!"

The urgent sound of Draco's voice brought Harry slowly from unconsciousness, and he lifted his chin from his chest with an aching neck, blinking away the mists of the stunner. Yet, he wasn't wearing his glasses, so the world stayed fuzzy. He managed to make out the shape of his lover opposite him, and then the ambush came back. Instantly he flexed, but his movements came up against ties on most of the joints of his limbs, and, although almost vertical, in fact leaning slightly forward, Harry discovered that he was bound to two planks fixed in an X shape.

His fingers tingled when he moved them, so he had to have been held with his hands above his head for some time, and his head was woolly. Draco was much more alert, and he called from across what Harry could just make out as an intricate magical circle marked on the floor, "Harry, you with me?"

"Hmm," Harry replied, and then forced out of a dry throat, "Yes. Are you alright?"

"Apart from being bound by silver, I'm fine," Draco snarked back, and Harry recognised the sound of chains.

He blinked some more and realised that Draco was standing behind a short, stout plinth, which reached his navel, and he was in fact attached to the stone by short silver manacles, one on either side from the stone to his wrists. He had been stripped to the waist, and there were markings all over his chest. Swiftly, Harry looked down at himself and saw black lines swirling out from the left side of his body, around the area of his heart. This was no preparation for torturous games, it was the start of a ritual, The Midnight Oil Ceremony, and Harry's blood turned to ice.

"Not this quickly," he muttered, letting out his dread and pulling at his bonds: he'd hoped for a little respite, a return to his cell at Hogwarts, a chance for escape.

A chuckle drifted over to Harry and he froze, he knew that voice too well, and he half expected to see the glow of a wall. Yet, not this time. There had been one small light by which the trapped couple had been able to regard one another, but along with laughter came a wind that whipped around the circle, and candles, inky black, sprung into purple flame in its wake. Footsteps then replace Voldemort's amusement, and Harry looked to his left to see his nemesis, accompanied by Lucius Malfoy, walking up a hallway lined with serpent-entwined pillars. Recognition of location began to sink in, and to be sure, Harry glanced to his right and saw the statue of Salazar: they were in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Were you hoping for a rescue?" the Dark Lord taunted, stopping at the edge of the circle, his red eyes darting from one captive to the other.

The way he held himself was very like Dumbledore, tall and straight with his hands clasped in front of him, but the politeness of his stance could not detract from the gloating that was going on. Harry set his features hard, he had learnt during hours of torture how not to give his enemy any satisfaction. Draco was more responsive, and he snarled, "Well, the Resistance are rather good at them."

It was not Voldemort who took the bait, it was Lucius, who strode up to his son and returned hotly, "This castle is not guarded by fools like Azkaban."

The comment could have merely been a retort, but the emphases in Lucius' voice were all wrong. Harry glanced at Draco, who looked back at him: they had both heard it, the fact rather than theory in the statement. It was Draco's turn to laugh, and he mocked, "So that's why you rushed us in here is it? Resistance surprised you twice in one night, have they?"

"Our task will be finished long before your friends can break through Hogwarts' defences," Voldemort joined in, his displeasure showing as he stalked after his subordinate; he took hold of Draco's chin and looked him directly in the eye as he continued, "And then your rather impressive talents will be mine, and they will crush that rag-tag army outside."

"I will never be yours," Draco objected, pulling out of the hold.

Voldemort laughed again as Draco seethed in front of him, and Harry felt his gut lurch a couple of times, but nothing happened: Draco was completely bound, no more than an amusing floor show. Harry rattled the wood that held him, he was not going to let Draco take the brunt of their enemy's triumph alone. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he growled and did manage to distract their captors; Lucius turned, hands on his hips, eyebrows raised and Voldemort looked over his shoulder, his smile almost whimsical.

"Nice to see you haven't lost the Gryffindor animal spirit, Harry," the skeletal wizard teased, and as Harry fell quiet, added, "Nor any of your sanity: that was an interesting ruse. It had my people convinced the escape was genuine. I must admit, your mole was an excellent touch. How did you convince a man with such enmity towards you to risk his own and his wife's life for you?"

"Some people hate you more than they hate me," Harry finally found his voice, albeit still a low growl.

Voldemort moved to the centre of the circle, his long robes making him seem to glide, and he then stood back a little, keeping both of the prisoners in view.

"You must be aware by now that I care little for what people think of me," the cool figure sniffed.

"You should take more notice, then you might see what is going on under your nose," Draco did not pass over the opportunity to bite.

The Dark Lord just smiled, to himself, then at his prince and then at Harry, and he appeared to be considering something. After a moment, he pursed his lips, took a deep breath and revealed, "Yes, maybe so," which surprised Harry, until it was backed up with, "I underestimated you, Draco. I made a mistake when I decided to let your little seduction run its course. I thought you were too self-absorbed to bother with anything but your own hide. Or maybe it is Harry I misjudged."

Red eyes narrowed on him, and Harry puffed out his chest in defiance. He knew there was something derogatory coming his way, and he was ready when Voldemort observed, "I never thought someone so moral as you would ever use his body to beg his way out of any situation."

This time, Harry laughed, and annoyance flicked across his enemy's features.

"No wonder you underestimated us," he fired off.

Lucius had seen his master's distaste, and Harry gagged as a hand fastened around his windpipe. However, as soon as he had begun to choke, Voldemort interrupted the assault with, "No, no, Lucius, let him mock. Harry will soon remember how to treat his betters."

Harry coughed and gasped air back into his lungs, and forced out, "You are not my betters."

"Lucius," Voldemort began, sounding a little whimsical to the uninitiated, but Harry recognised the tones in his voice and was not surprised when he continued, "I think it is time for the first reminder."

The elder Malfoy stepped back a few feet, grinning from ear to ear as he drew his wand. Harry glared at him and just waited.

"Crucio!"

Harry had not forgotten the white hot agony, but the freshness of it threw him out of reality with a force that demanded his scream. He writhed against his bonds, lost in the pure pain, the altered state threatening his sanity. Yet, he came back to ground, shuddering and hanging from his restraints, and with Draco's yelling in his ears.

"No!" his lover was shouting, and the anguish in the sound was almost worse than the agony from which Harry descended.

Voldemort was there now, stood in front of him, arms crossed and observing like he was watching some kind of audition. Harry forced his head off his chest and met the appraising stare.

"Remember now, Harry?" he asked lightly.

"Go to hell."

* * *

Lucius was playing games: a quick slicing hex, an impact or two, a few more pain spells, but nothing the seasoned torture victim had not resisted before. The show was more for Draco than Harry, he knew it, things to make him cry out or groan, which were making his lover's objections more desperate. His partner was pulling at his bonds, screaming almost as loudly as Harry, and it was just what Voldemort wanted.

"Draco," Harry managed as his teeth ungritted for the umpteenth time, "save your strength."

He received another laceration down his leg for that, but, to his relief, Draco shut up. He met the guilty, worried gaze of his lover and held it as long as he could. He said 'I love you' one more time without opening his mouth. Voldemort walked deliberately between them, forcing Harry's attention, and he offered coolly, "You really should worry about yourself, Harry."

"You're going to kill me, why should I care?" Harry hissed back.

"Not quite yet," his nemesis replied, a small smile playing over his lips again. "I'm enjoying you far too much."

Harry knew that the delay of his death would be nothing to do with enjoyment: they wanted his supplication, complete surrender, and he would not give it.

"An old friend wishes to meet with you again, Harry," Voldemort continued, reaching into the pocket of his robe.

Vipera, delicate, coiled around her master's fingers, sent chills up and down Harry's spine. This little creature had haunted his dreams with her hypnotic urgings, and a re-acquaintance was not something he wanted. His distaste was on his face, and the victory of it in both Lucius and Voldemort's eyes. He tensed as the Dark Lord held his pet out and walked towards Harry.

"Hello, My Enemy," the little snake whispered, lifting herself off her master's hands and swaying in front of Harry.

Harry watched her movements silently, unable to stem the disquiet that the serpent inspired in him. His heart beat faster as the horrible anticipation got the better of him, and he was ready to scream when the reptile struck out at his collarbone. Harry had grown resistant to physical pain, the relentless application over his time in the torture chamber having dulled it to a haze of automatic reaction after the first few minutes of any session, yet each bite of this little creature was as potent as the first. His body spasmed and his mind swam in silver as he heard the sibilant tones tell him, "Surrender to the mercy of our master."

When he could breathe again, the first thing Harry managed in the hissing language of the snake was, "No."

Vipera struck again instantly, his neck this time, and Harry swooned with the potency of her venom. He came round as his chin was lifted by the sharp point of a wand.

"Wakey, wakey," Lucius coaxed, and Harry blinked at his outline still tinged in silver.

"He wakes, Master," Vipera hissed gently. "My Enemy, surrender to our master, or do you wish me to kiss you again?"

"Go to hell," Harry growled back.

"Stand aside, Lucius," Voldemort ordered smoothly, "Harry needs a little more persuasion." He swapped to parseltongue, and told the snake, "One more time, My Little One."

Harry let his head fall back onto his chest, saving his energy for resisting the venom. He did not see the tiny serpent coming at him this time, but as the bite landed on his ribs, the agony lanced out through his body and he convulsed helplessly. Yet as his voice failed him, he heard another's cutting through the silver pain: Draco was not screaming in desperation this time, he was speaking directly to Harry. His voice carried through the hurt, past the snake's insipid suggestions, and he clung on to the even tone.

"Don't give in, Harry."

Harry couldn't open his eyes as the convulsions shook him; Draco's voice was his only hold on reality, and he ignored all else. When the pain subsided, he forced his head up and, still ignoring the figures beside him, met the worried gaze of his partner. Draco was looking for his reaction, and settled off his toes as Harry showed him his resilience. This was just the start, he knew it, and he fixed on his lover as the rest of his world swam in silver.

"Listen to me, My Enemy," Vipera urged. "Dance with me."

"Piss off," Harry snarled back, his teeth barely ungritted.

Voldemort sighed, not a serious sound, merely one that spoke of unconcern.

"Thank you, My Sweet," he spoke to his pet, kissing her lovingly.

Harry wasn't sure if it was the venom, or the way the serpent nuzzled his enemy's cheek that was making his nauseous. He was sure, however, that he did not want another bite, and he tensed as the delicate snake was carried towards him again. However, Voldemort did not order another kiss, instead, he gently placed the reptile around Harry's neck. She coiled around the back of his neck, making his skin crawl, and teased, "Hello, My Enemy, do I frighten you?"

"Now, Now, My Pet," Voldemort chided without any intention of reprimanding the animal, "Whisper sweetly to him, make him understand."

"Yes, Master," Vipera returned, lifting her head until her tongue flicked against Harry's ear: he couldn't help it, he cringed.

The sounds that then came from the little serpent were not words, they were more like vocalise, and they made Harry's vision blur in and out as the venom reacted. He gritted his teeth of his own free will and tried to fix on Draco once more. Yet, he wasn't allowed to, because Voldemort stepped in the way. His arms were folded and his look showed what he wanted to be whimsical consideration. However, Harry knew better, Ginny had told him how much more his surrender was worth than mere play, and he was not going to give in to any deceit. He glared back at his captor, trying desperately to keep him in focus.

"You know, Harry," Voldemort began almost conversationally, "I really have waited for this for a long time, and I was hoping you would be much more entertaining. Maybe I ought to have Brutus and Villainous brought down here."

At that, Harry laughed, and it turned into a sneer at the shock in his opponent; he enlightened, "You're already here!"

Voldemort, regretfully for Harry, did not take long to recover from his threat thrown back at him, in fact, his face hardened and Harry found his enemy's cold, skeletal body close to his own, and Voldemort's face only inches in front of him.

"We both know you begged to be left alone," his tormentor whispered, and his fingers played over and under Harry's waistband. "Will you beg again?"

The fear that leeched out from his heart sent Harry cold, but two bullies in a cell were very different from his nemesis, and the years of personal hatred gave him an armour he had not known existed. Harry held very still, not even flinching at the stroke of bony fingers that threatened to slip further inside his trousers. Harry glared at the man who had killed his parents, the wizard who had all but destroyed the wizarding world he loved, and he defied anything the monster could throw at him. Whether Voldemort saw his determination, or merely realised any reaction would take more effort, Harry did not know, but he did not trust the moment when the Dark Lord withdrew his attentions. He still held himself taut, refusing to relax or show relief as, slowly, his persecutor walked backwards away from him.

"Well, well," Voldemort smiled, running his red gaze up and down Harry's body, "a little too sure of yourself, Harry: maybe I ought to have you stripped."

Harry glanced from Voldemort to Lucius and back again, not sure if the threat was real or not. The look on the lackey's face certainly said he would enjoy it if the master gave the word, but the look on Voldemort's face was far more personal. Slowly, Voldemort reached up his sleeve and pulled out his wand: it was going to be personal. The wizard said nothing, but with a flick of his hand, Harry felt air on his legs and genitals. Naked, bottom of the heap once more, but Harry drew up all the hatred he could and made his own mask. He stuck out his chin and glowered as Voldemort approached once more. There was no touching this time, the controller just looked the subject up and down, like a piece of meat; just like a piece of meat, there was nothing in the gaze that ran over him, Harry could see nothing sexual, nothing even intimidating, and he realised slowly why Villainous had stood by and let Brutus do the terrorizing. This creature was not capable of anything close enough to real emotion to make such coercion work: he dealt in pain, humiliation, but it would never be sexual. Stronger for that knowledge, Harry taunted, "What's the matter, nothing stiffening your broom?"

Voldemort stepped rapidly backwards, shock on his face, and Harry smiled, triumphant. The victory lasted as long as it took Lucius to cast an unforgivable curse, and then the world went away in white hot agony.

* * *

The white place took longer to disappear, because of the silver tint Vipera added to his mind, and the world had moved around him by the time Harry opened his eyes. Being inclined forward meant that his head naturally rested on his chest, and he was blinking at where the floor had been as he slowly came round. Yet, the floor wasn't there anymore, something else closer had taken its place. Harry's vision was even worse than before, he could barely make sense of anything before his eyes unfixed from it, and it took him a while to make out that what he was looking at was a large, shallow, wooden bowl with a raised ring carved into the centre of it. There were more carvings around the edges of the vessel, but Harry couldn't focus long enough to follow any outlines. He was not given long to try and work it out, either, because Lucius grabbed him by the hair and forced his head so far back he threatened to break his neck.

"Are you thirsty, Potter?" Lucius asked, brandishing a pottery cup in his other hand, the contents of which made Harry's nostrils twitch with revulsion.

The prisoner clamped his jaw shut, Ginny's description of the Midnight Oil Ceremony, its use of potions and spell, etched in his memory. However, bound and helpless, he could do nothing when Lucius' grip shifted from his hair to his nose and shut off his oxygen supply. The cup bounced off his taut lips, spilling a little of the potion onto Harry's face: it burnt without heat, stinging badly, and Harry whimpered, trying to break away from the hold. Lucius held him firmly, however, and his breath was short. One gasp for air and the potion was tipped down his throat. Harry choked as the thick fluid seared his tongue and throat, and he coughed and spat as soon as he was released, but he could do nothing more than gurgle and retch his discomfort as some of the foul-tasting liquid burned his gullet all the way down.

Whatever the magical effects of the potion, they were not immediate, and Harry was left looking at the small amount of the noxious substance that he had managed to spit out into the decorated bowl. His body's reactions settled slowly as the burning faded to an uncomfortable heat, and Harry relaxed, disoriented and unable to hold his own weight.

"Harry?" Draco's worried call interrupted his stupor.

Harry would have lifted his own head, but Lucius got there first. He grabbed him by the hair once more, displaying him to Draco.

"How precious," the father taunted the son, but Harry could not make out Draco's reaction, his vision was misty and swimming.

"Fight it, Harry," Draco clearly ignored Lucius, and Harry was grateful for the words of support, but his voice was lost to the tightness of his throat that the potion had left, so he did not reply.

"Look to yourself, Draco," Voldemort warned from the edge of the circle, as he was walking back in with something in his hands.

It wasn't until his nemesis was nearly upon him that Harry could make out a box, and from its colour and size, he knew what was in it: The Orb of Eternity. Despite all his courageous resolutions, as Harry laid eyes on his destruction, he flinched. Voldemort smiled at his fear, but Harry couldn't hide it; he didn't want to be used as some kind of power source, and neither did he want to be the downfall of his lover.

"This is the first time you've seen the orb, isn't it Harry," his tormentor drew out the moment, running his long, white fingers over the old wood.

Lucius held Harry firmly, making sure he was looking at the box, but he wouldn't have looked away, he was mesmerised by his own fear. Slowly, Voldemort opened the protective case and revealed a sphere. At first sight it looked like an oversize pearl, about the size of a cricket ball, but as he concentrated on the creamy globe, Harry realised that it was not Vipera's silver that was making the swirling shapes just below its milky surface; like lightening storms in clouds seen from space, streaks of silver were appearing and disappearing from the surface. If it hadn't been such a deadly item, Harry would have thought it beautiful, but as Voldemort reached into the box and lifted the orb from its velvet-lined home, he shuddered.

Lucius finally let him go, and he watched, as with a reverence he had never before seen Voldemort display, the dark wizard placed the Hand of Life on the raised ring inside the bowl. It sunk into a pool of expelled potion, and Harry's heart fluttered in time with the orb's miniature storms as the fluid connected it to him.

"You feel her?" Voldemort asked breathily; Harry just looked away.

"Surrender," Vipera added her hypnotism to the mix of influences in his brain.

It was too much for Harry, and he yelled a denial of it all. Well, at least he tried, but his vocal chords were not working properly and his rejection came out as a stream of sounds without definition. He struggled with his bonds, needing them to give, wanting to hit out at the monsters who tormented him. Voldemort began to chant, a quiet sound against Harry's frenzy, but when he took the potion cup from Lucius and poured the remainder of its contents onto the orb, the combination of words and potion had a dramatic effect on Harry. He felt a tug at the basest level of his being, below even the magical instincts that linked him to Draco, and his fight became a shuddering groan. Something latched on to him, and Harry had only his stamina with which to fight it. That, and shortly, Draco's words of support.

"Hold on," Draco urged. "Resist it, Harry."

Harry listened to the stream of words coming from Draco, fixing his mind around it, bolstering his own resolve and ignoring the chant. This thing below him had hold of his soul, and he would not relinquish it without a fight. Draco was his anchor.

"Silencio!" Lucius cast.

Harry forced his head up as his lover fell silent and the chant reinstated itself. Draco's mouth was still moving, and he was pulling at his bonds: Harry focused on that struggle instead. Lucius didn't matter; Voldemort's pale visage faded into the background and his words with them; the Orb of Eternity was a mere curiosity; all that meant anything to Harry and his soul was the energy opposite him. He could still feel his lover, Draco was ripping at his shackles with everything he had, and the familiar lurching helped raise a barrier between Harry's being and the thief trying to steal it.

Suddenly, the pull was gone. Harry collapsed as soon as the fight was over, sinking heavily against his bonds, weak and disoriented, but still in one piece.

"Interesting," was all Voldemort had to say, then he turned and glided over to Draco.


	67. The Price of a Soul

Harry tried to follow the conversation between Voldemort and Draco, but his senses were swimming, and he only caught occasional words and mainly emotion. Draco had yelled a lot when their captor had removed the silencing spell, he had yelled until he was hoarse. Voldemort had been much calmer, icily so, but he no longer sounded amused, or indifferent to the proceedings: that much Harry took as encouragement, they were at least making things difficult for their captors. The longer things went on, the greater the chance that the offensive outside would break in. It was a slim hope, but Harry held on to it.

Draco started yelling again, but Voldemort flicked his fingers and Lucius cast the silencing hex once more, cutting off the diatribe. Harry gathered what stamina and courage he had left and waited as his nemesis turned back to him. He was standing like Dumbledore again, but he didn't have the same implicit authority in his manner, it was merely arrogance.

"Don't you want this to be over?" Voldemort asked, his voice hissing with parseltongue.

Vipera whispered to Harry, "You wish it to be over. Relax, My Enemy, let the magic take you."

"No," he growled in return.

"Lucius," Voldemort's voice hardened as he addressed his subordinate, even though he was smiling, "maybe another small reminder."

"Yes, My Lord," Lucius accepted the order with relish.

Harry looked to Draco once more, but Voldemort stepped in his way.

"You cannot ignore me, or rely on him," he was told firmly.

Harry searched his brain for a comeback, but he was too tired to think and so he faced Lucius' 'reminder' silently. Lucius joined his Lord a few feet behind the orb and bowl, and levelled his wand at Harry. The spell that came at him made Harry whine in fear before the false fire touched his body, and when the invisible flames touched his left foot, he screamed. They needed no tricks with this curse this time, no matter how fake its effects; the pain and the smell of his own burning flesh sent Harry spiralling into a panic. He pulled at the ties on his arms and legs, desperate to get away from the terror as well as the agony. His heart thundered in his ears, threatening to burst out of his chest, and he couldn't breathe properly, and then, suddenly, it was over.

The pain which had caused his writhing gone, Harry collapsed again, but this time, he shifted weakly, his body strained and his psyche unwilling to settle from the assault. He shrunk away from his torturers, scared, wanting no more, but he bit his lip as the temptation to beg crossed his mind.

"Surrender, My Enemy," Vipera sung in his ear, her powers taking full advantage of his fragility.

Harry growled and shook his head, unable to be more coherent. His refusal was immediately met with flame; his right arm erupted with the agony of burning. His whole hand was instantly engulfed in flame, but it only slowly spread up over his wrist, towards his elbow, and it made no difference to Harry that when he turned his head to look at the blistering attack he could see nothing, the divergence of mind and reality only intensified the horror. His beleaguered senses could not take the conflict, and Harry fainted.

* * *

Each limb had felt the flames at least once, but Lucius seemed to prefer Harry's reactions when he targeted his legs, and Harry screamed as both suffered at once. The curse was coming in small blasts, each enough to reduce him to a cowering wreck, but, after the first mistake, if Lucius could help it, he did not let Harry pass out. However, the repetition was having a strange effect on the false fire's victim: the hallucinogenic nature of the spell meant that its effects never changed, it was always the same pain, the same intensity, the same creeping feeling of destruction, and, however much it distracted his mind, Harry's brain was becoming accustomed to the agony. It did not have the maddening edge of Cruciatus, nor the rawness of hexes for physical injury, and within the sureality, Harry's thoughts had begun to drift.

He screamed, most of his mind on the lancing agony that seared up his thighs, but part of Harry's brain pictured Draco, his lover, and his rock, and the need to resist. That small idea kept Harry from pleading for mercy, held back the urge to surrender everything to his masters, even as the flames crept higher and higher. This time, the pain did not end, instead, Harry heard Voldemort begin chanting once more, and the pull on his soul mixed with the agony of the fire. That input would have been too much for a mind obsessed purely with fire, but the part of Harry that could still feel Draco also hung onto his own soul: he would not submit.

Eyes closed in despair, body shuddering with hurt, Harry clung on to everything, even the pain, as it blocked the draw on his being. Yet, as suddenly as always, the agony wasn't there anymore. It was over, and Harry's mind sought to relax, but his body refused. After the onslaught, reality took time to descend, but when it did, another, different kind of pain, real, sharp, tearing, spread out from Harry's chest. Voldemort was up close to him, staring in his eyes, and, for a moment, Harry was captivated by the evil he saw there, but then he looked down to the source of the hurt. The hilt in his nemesis' hand, it's blade in his heart, a knife glinted in the candlelight, and, in shock, Harry realised he was dying.

The prophecy had finally come to fruition, and, knowing his part was now the victim, Harry felt the blood rise up his throat. After the false flames, the slice of the knife was something real, and Harry grunted as, with a relish that now just confused Harry, Voldemort withdrew the blade. Released, Harry sagged forward, fighting for life, but his heart was not beating properly, and his lungs were filling with blood, not air. He had enough life left to see his own blood dripping onto the orb below him, and then the clasp of magic took hold of his soul. As his body gave up, the orb claimed Harry, and all the pain and horror drifted away.

* * *

There was no seeing, no hearing, no touch, taste nor smell anymore, but there was Harry. Power held him, that was all he knew, and nothing else mattered. Nothing that was until he sensed the blood of another. His new world reacted, sparking life around him, and words of magic woke the essence that remained of Harry Potter. His magic responded to the bidding of the speaker, lancing out through the blood contact, searching for the soul to which the fluid of life belonged. He found Draco. His lover was in anguish, his mind torn by a grief that almost broke Harry as well, and, without a doubt, Harry knew the grief was for him. He had died, been murdered, and the sight had tortured Draco beyond anything physical coercion could have managed. There was no fight, no resistance to the urgings of the spell that controlled the orb, just desolation. Ignoring the call of the words to crush and remove, Harry reached out to his lover, wrapping him in all that he was.

Draco started, reacting to the contact in shock, frightened and unsure, but Harry continued to reach, there was no stopping him, and he needed to offer comfort. He heard Draco sigh, at least, he realised gradually, that Draco heard himself sigh, and then his eyes opened. Harry sat behind them, and saw his lover's hands clasped either side of the orb, cuts just visible on his palms making the blood contact. Slowly, unsure and feeling strange, Draco looked up at their enemy, the man who had brought them to this. Lucius was now nowhere to be seen, they were alone with the Dark Lord, and Draco stared up at him as he stood over them, chanting the cruel spell, unaware that his victory was falling away from him.

The words went round again, urging the orb to destroy, but Harry resisted, blocked the crafted evil from its still dazed target.

'Draco', Harry formed out of the power of which he was now part. 'Draco.'

"Harry," he heard Draco hear himself speaking out loud.

Voldemort faltered at that, but after a moment, his words, and the magical intent behind them grew stronger: Harry maintained his resistance. Harry knew what the magic wanted, it wanted an empty shell, and through his lover's thoughts, he remembered Ginny's words. He could destroy the evil of Voldemort once and for all.

'Draco, trust me,' he gave to his lover, and then, before their tormentor could suspect anything, he wrapped Draco's being in a stranglehold.

Draco's body tensed as he fought the power, but there was no stopping the strength of the orb and a fresh soul, but Harry did not crush, he did not destroy, he held and nurtured and maintained his lover, even as he pulled him out of his body. Draco's body went limp as Harry left it behind, and two souls then resided in the orb.

More than nothing this time, a vague togetherness that kept Harry aware, and he entwined his essence with Draco's, their power flowing as one, and they waited. The final words of the spell trickled over the orb, calling to its magic, and more blood, chill, but powerful, flowed over the Hand of Life. This was life blood, too much for mere contact, and Voldemort's soul descended with his blood on the lovers' union like oil onto water. Yet, just like oil on water, it would not mix, as Harry threw up a barrier between one blood path and the other. He knew this soul, he had been forced into a blood link with him before, and he used his knowledge to fight the strength that rose to meet him.

Yet, Harry Potter was the slave of the orb, and the words of the spell urged him to obey his master. It was difficult to fight both the spell and the soul trying to pass through. And then there was Draco, lost in the last moments of despair before his soul had parted his body, and he needed protecting. The three fronts threatened to spread Harry too thin, and Voldemort's influence darkened the strange world of the orb. The slave battled his master and resisted the spell, but the evil of his nemesis continued to grow. Harry knew his defences were failing, his world closed around him, surrendering slowly to the will of the controller: he could not stand against it.

Suddenly, Harry was no longer fighting alone; Draco was there, flowing through him, mingling with him, and they exploded at Voldemort as one. Nothing could stand against them, not even the greatest evil of all time, and in a blink of the mind, that evil was gone. Harry rose into the freedom of the masterless orb, enfolding with the power that had taken him as its own, playing in the waves of victory. Yet, he should have known nothing of victory, or joy, he was pure power now, but his company was not. Draco was still linked to the orb by blood, and his body had a heartbeat. Harry danced with his lover one more time, wrapping him in the power that he now controlled, but then he pushed him away. Draco's body jerked and his lover resisted, but Harry had the Hand of Life behind him, and Draco's soul returned to his body.

Draco heard himself scream, and Harry regretted the anguish that returned with the parting, but still he unwrapped himself from the soul he placed back into the world and prepared to return down the link.

"No!" Draco snarled, standing, his hands still clasped round the orb, and Harry felt a pull on his being that stopped him closing the link; it was Draco as well, and he demanded, "Stay here!"

'Let me go,' Harry urged, now only wanting the peace of the orb.

Yet, what he was faced with was the sight of his own dead body hanging from the restraints that still held him. He recoiled, but Draco held him fast, making him see through his eyes, making him experience the horror of death again. His lover waved his hand, and the ropes released his body. It fell to the ground, a broken doll, but Draco descended on it with anger, and hope, and fear, and grief all pouring through Harry. Harry saw himself rolled over, and the orb being pushed against his chest, and then Draco lifted his torso and clasped the cadaver to him.

"Help me," Draco urged, his magic rising with his grief, but he wasn't talking to Harry.

The power around him convulsed, and Harry lost control of it. Draco was gone, the orb was gone, and then there was pain. His body hurt so much, strained muscles, broken bones, but most of all his chest, and Harry buried his face in Draco's shoulder, reaching for him, desperate for the agony to go away. Fire and ice together sliced out from the centre of his chest touching every fibre, knitting, mending, fixing and it was a fresh torture. Not only his body, but Harry's magic suffered as well, being whipped up into a frenzy from the very base of his being. Yet, there was a body holding him tightly, sharing his agony as the orb took what power it needed and ran amuck within as well, and the pair clung together in the frenzy that left them both helpless.

Slowly, the pain and the power subsided, and Harry realised that his lover was shaking, not from hurt, but from sobs. Dazed, and a little confused, Harry adjusted his hold from desperation to comfort, and he managed through a dry throat, "Draco?"

His companion tightened his hold still further, making breathing, which Harry was enjoying once more, rather difficult, but Harry patted shoulder, like any unsure male, and pressed, "What's the matter?"

"You were dead," came out in stutters and chokes, right into his ear, and still confused, but empathising, Harry held a bit tighter too. "I never want to feel like that again, understand?"

"I didn't much like it myself," Harry replied, and was even more confused when Draco laughed.

He was released, and he planted his elbows on the ground to support himself in the half-sitting position into which Draco had put him. However, the couple only slowly parted, and the first thing both did was to look down at where the orb and the hole in Harry's chest had been. There was blood and tissue still decorating the black swirls, but no hole and no orb either. He looked up into his lover's face for the first time, startled by the missing item. What he saw made him jump.

"Draco, your eyes are sparking silver," he blurted out exactly what he saw.

His lover smiled and answered much more calmly, "So are yours, very dramatic."

"As if the scar wasn't enough," Harry groaned, his mood oddly flippant as his thoughts refused to focus on much more than superficial things.

"It's gone," Draco shrugged, his smile widening, and he stroked aside Harry's fringe, running his fingers over what, by his words was mere memory.

Harry quickly dropped his gaze to Draco chest, a happy idea forming, and he grinned, reaching out as well to smooth untouched skin above Draco's heart.

"So's yours," he continued the moments of discovery.

However, then something bad occurred to him, and he looked down for the scar that his lover had given him: he smiled afresh as he found it still there. Draco looked confused this time, and Harry enjoyed himself as he took hold of Draco's trousers, pulled them down enough to show the lion's head he was sure was still there and told him, "You gave it to me."

He stroked the mark he had made, all sorts of impulses running through his recharged body, and he saw it clearly reflected in his lover's literally sparkling gaze. He was ready when Draco practically pounced: he wrapped his arms around him and parted his lips for the press of mouths that was initiated. Draco tasted just like he should, always decadent and wild in Harry's mind, and he was glad of it in the strangeness that he didn't really want to try to explain. Being in the orb was a hazy memory, something which both chilled him and made him curious, but he pushed the thoughts away, sinking in to the very real touch of his partner.

Being back in his body, it wasn't long before Harry began to notice the chill of the stone floor. He shifted in Draco's hold as his buttocks suffered most, and, despite the nice feel of his lover's lips, he was glad when he was released to sit up properly.

"I'm freezing," he announced, standing up and looking around for the trousers that Voldemort had cast off him, or any of their other clothes for that matter.

However, what he saw was his enemy's body sprawled out beside the plinth to which Draco had once been manacled.

"May I borrow some magic?" he asked, knowing his tone had gone cold.

He reached out to his lover, and Draco put his hand into his outstretched palm. Magic ran up his arm and Harry called on the element with which he had become intimately familiar. Voldemort's body erupted in flames and Harry watched the final act of purification. It did not take long: under his direction, the flames burnt fast and hot, but Draco was wrapped around Harry by the time there was nothing left, not even ash.

"We did it," Draco whispered in his ear, and kissed him, "he's finally gone."

Harry had never been so sure of anything in his life: even through the haze of the orb, he remembered the moment Voldemort had been snuffed out, very clearly. His nemesis was no more and that caused all sorts of emotions in Harry: delight, relief, even anger that maybe it had been too easy, that the evil wizard should have suffered more. Harry let the emotions run their course, reminding himself that Voldemort was more than dead, he did not exist anymore, no ghosts, no wraiths, no returning from the dead. He was free. Yet, for all the tumult within, all Harry showed outwardly was a small smile and a light stroke of the arms which held him.


	68. One Battle Over, Another Begun

Harry had stared at the empty space where his mortal enemy had been for a long time, not really thinking; his emotions so divergent that, in the end, he went numb. Twelve long years of persecution, longer, almost his whole life if he included the existence he had suffered at the hands of the Dursleys, thanks to Voldemort's actions; he couldn't deal with it all at once, and so he put it away for later. Voldemort was dead, but his regime still held sway, and there was fighting still to be done.

Draco let him go, and Harry focused on practical things: he was still freezing. His jeans were in a pile at the edge of the circle, and Harry pulled them on gratefully, but that was it, no shirts or shoes, and, regretfully, no wand. Draco did however produce his wand from the dimension in which he had left it, and then, barefoot and cautious, the pair headed out of the chamber.

"Voldemort sent Lucius away with Vipera to let him out," Draco informed Harry of why his father was missing as they stepped carefully along the rough floor of the tunnel. "He said it was to lead the troops in the battle, but, if you ask me, he just didn't trust him."

"Would you?" Harry retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Not as far I could throw him," Draco snarled back, his feelings very clear.

Harry squeezed his lover's fingers: they had been walking hand in hand since leaving the chamber, and it felt very comfortable.

"He laughed when you died," Draco stopped their progress and his grip went from comfortable to vice-like.

"Don't think about it," Harry responded, wrapping his companion in a hug as much for his own comfort as for Draco's.

The longer he thought about it, the more the idea of dying made his blood run colder, and he tried to take his own advice.

"I'm going to kill him," his lover dwelt on the memory all the same.

"We won," Harry reminded Draco, trying to stall the fury that he could feel building inside his lover's shaking body.

Harry stood back and checked the expression he was given. The wild look was back in Draco's eyes, and it wasn't helped by the lightening storms in his irises that shone in the gloom. Harry was caught between being impressed by the edge in his lover and concern that Draco was ready to lose it.

"We still have to get through the castle," he reminded Draco.

"They won't be expecting an attack from within," his companion answered fiercely, wagging his wand in the air like he was trying to beat someone with it. "We can break their defences from behind and let the others in."

Harry liked that idea, and strategy going forward was better than dwelling on what had just passed. One man, a mastermind, was dead, but there were plenty of other Death Eaters who needed to be brought down, not least of which was Lucius Malfoy. Vengeance was a very protective place, it held back everything that Harry had been trying not to think about, and so he embraced it.

"After you," he waved his spare hand up the corridor, smiling his consent and even produced a mock little bow as his spirits lifted around the need to do some damage.

* * *

Moaning Myrtle had screamed and hidden down one of the long-disused toilets when she had seen the two wraiths who came out of the Chamber of Secrets. Apart from the scarring, Harry had not really thought about how he looked, but after a quick glance at himself in a mirror, Draco had been ready to clean them both up, but Harry had stopped him, the gore making an impression he decided they could use. They were both covered in his blood, given the cadaver hugging which had brought him back to life, and, coupled with the black spell markings and the flashing eyes, the effect from the semi-naked men was probably terrifying. Myrtle was not a good yard stick, but she was enough of an indication, so, hand on shoulder rather than hand in hand, so as not to spoil the impression but allow Harry to borrow magic easily if he wished, the pair set off into the castle proper, Draco slightly in the lead.

Caution was not on Draco's agenda, and he strode out into the second floor of Hogwarts, wand brandished ahead. Harry didn't argue, he'd seen the look in Draco's eyes as he opened the bathroom door, and he had decided then that he would just stay alert and watch his lover's back. However, part of him was thinking about quite how many Death Eaters were between them and the front door, and the idea kept him on his toes. He was therefore surprised that, on their first encounter with a human, they were ignored. Admittedly, the wizard was running full pelt down a corridor into which they were about to step, and there was a look of complete panic on his face, but he definitely saw Draco, avoiding him as he dashed past, and recognised him if the panic interspersed with fear was anything to go by. Lack of reaction was no excuse for Draco, however, because he raised his wand and the man went sailing into a wall, rather than turning the corner. He collapsed without much sound at the base of the wall, a disgruntled painting landing on top of him. Draco had a satisfied smirk on his face as he stalked up to his first conquest.

"Small fry," he muttered, mainly to himself as he prodded the unconscious form with his foot.

"Question is," Harry mused, "was he running to or from the fight?"

Draco pushed the picture aside and extracted a bag from the man's hand, which Harry had not noticed he was carrying. Holding it at arms' length, Draco then undid the string and, when there was no immediate booby trap, peered inside.

"Shadow bombs," he concluded, losing interest almost immediately and handing the bag to Harry. "I'd say he was on his way with supplies."

"This way it is then," Harry nodded down the hall which the wizard had intended to travel, and hooked the bag onto a loop of his trousers for safe keeping.

"If they're using shadow bombs, they're on the defensive," Draco concluded as they trotted down the hallway.

"How many Resistance people are attacking the castle?" Harry wondered.

He was shown his answer after a few more turns, and their arrival at a window. The view looked down over the grounds, and Harry couldn't quite believe what he was seeing: there had to be hundreds of wizards and witches in a pitched battle, bodies in combat over every area he could see. It looked like every rank of Death Eater was fighting, from well-dressed officials, whom Harry recognised from the banquet games, to some of the lowly Enforcers whom Harry also knew from his escape. The Resistance were even more diverse, some dressed like Aurors, well-prepared and fighting well, while others were roughly-dressed, and thin, and some did not even have wands.

"They're the prisoners from Azkaban," Draco was quicker to the conclusion than Harry, and he opened the window, leaning out for a better view as he finished, "I don't believe it."

Harry laughed, as the implications of such a mass of united people sank home, not quite believing everything himself. People battered by Voldemort's regime were actually outside, using their bare hands in some cases, to turn on the monster who had persecuted them.

"Looks like they're holding it at the main entrance," Draco threw back over his shoulder as he strained out of the window. "We have to get those doors open."

Harry grabbed his lover by the waistband and pulled him back in through the window before his exuberance threatened to take him too far, and offered, "Let's go then."

However, as they turned away from the battle below, someone came trotting up the corridor, clearly fleeing the battle, and she did not recognise Harry until it was too late: Flounce de la Ruffette froze when she identified her one-time muse, the last moments she had spent with him in his cell very clear in her expression. Draco raised his wand, but Harry held up his hand and told him definitely, "This one's mine."

Flounce whimpered at his tone, but she was like a deer caught in headlights, rooted to the spot by her own terror. Her lack of movement saved the woman from a reactionary hex, as Harry took his time to consider revenge on the self-centred designer. He didn't bother with contact for the magical donation, Draco pushed power at him anyway, and, holding it, he crossed the corridor to where the woman was cowering. He stopped in front of her, pursed his lips and looked her up and down: she was as oddly dressed as ever, pink and green clashing horribly with her purple and black scarecrow robes. Her appearance was everything to this woman, and Harry smiled as he realised how to exact his revenge for the jester's outfit.

"Vestio!" he cast, formulating an image of Aunt Petunia in his head, and in a puff of magic, Flounce did not look like Flounce anymore.

Harry's grin grew wider as he took in the sight before him, more than pleased with himself. The outlandish costume was gone, replaced with an eggshell blue twin set and obligatory pearls, which topped off an a-line tweed skirt, fawn tights and, horror of horrors, sensible shoes. The woman looked down at herself slowly, scared and uncertain, and then she screamed. The shock of mediocrity was too much for the artiste's delicate psyche; her eyes rolled in her head and she flopped to the floor. Draco strolled over and patted Harry on the back.

"How very Slytherin of you," he commented.

* * *

Flounce was the last leisure that Harry and Draco allowed themselves. As they moved closer to the heart of the battle, they came across more of their enemies. Some, like the shadow bomb carrier, did not even notice them, too concerned with their own hides and bolstering the stand at the front doors, even if they looked, they did not see. Those who did look and recognised the couple for what they were either fled in terror, or were swatted by Draco. Harry didn't like not having his wand, it made him feel more exposed than his lack of clothing, but magical loans were not as quick as direct spells, and he was sensible enough not to distract Draco when faced with jittery Death Eaters. He contented himself with being an extra pair of eyes and ears, at one point even bodily pulling Draco out of the way of two opposing groups of Enforcers, who fired spells from either end of a short corridor. Neither group proved very good at defence, and fell to their own side's hexes.

After the encounter with the half dozen fighters, it became exponentially more difficult to move around unnoticed. The ambush at the Manor clearly in mind, Harry provided enough caution for both of them, as Draco seemed oblivious to his own fallibility, and he was very glad that the castle provided many nooks and crannies and statues and suits of armour, behind which they could hide. Draco was becoming more and more annoyed at being yanked places by his waistband (the most convenient grip point Harry could find), and by the time Harry dragged him into a curtained alcove just to the right of the wide marble stairs to the entrance hall, his glower was black. Harry scowled back and hissed, "Did you think we'd just stroll on down the stairs with magic flying?"

From the hard stare, Harry knew that that had been exactly what his emotion-blinded lover had been planning, and the idea struck him as absurd. He smirked and observed, "So we're doing a swap are we, I'm the Slytherin now and you're the Gryffindor?"

That comment was more effective than any words of prudence that Harry could have provided: Draco's house pride was immediately offended and an inkling of sanity appeared in his expression along with the indignance. His companion leant against the wall, playing with the birch wood in his fingers, and fixed Harry with a challenge in, "So what would you suggest?"

Harry was rather of the opinion that he'd done enough strategizing over the last week; he wasn't always good at it, his chess game an example of that fact. However, Harry wasn't the only one doing a little manipulating: he knew Draco was pushing his buttons, but he took the bait anyway, not willing to be taunted by any Slytherin, not even his lover. Harry grabbed the edge of the curtain and peered out cautiously at the frantic activity that was going on at the bottom of the stairs. The atrium was a hive of activity: one group of Enforcers were staring fixedly at the large doors, their wands raised and their mouths moving rapidly, clearly holding the line; others were dashing down the stairs, bags and boxes in their hands, which they were then passing to other runners who were heading down past the old classrooms, or into the main hall. After a few seconds of watching, Harry surprised himself as he realised a useful fact: despite all the interaction between runners and those marshalling them, not one witch or wizard had looked at another, they were all too interested in what they were carrying. When he coupled this conclusion with the fact that Enforcer robes had a deep hood on the tunic with which to distinguish them from ordinary Death Eaters, Harry smugly turned to Draco with a fledgling plan.

"Catch me a couple of those runners," he ordered, indicating to outside the curtain, but as Draco raised his wand, Harry added, "discretely."

Draco gave him a withering look, but Harry was too pleased with himself to take any notice, and he just grinned. Baiting his lover into being sensible seemed to be a good tactic, because it worked a second time. Draco took his time assessing the activity in the hallway on the other side of the curtain before, with a flick of his wand, there were suddenly two startled looking men in between them. Draco touched the nearest to him with his wand, and the man collapsed without a sound. Harry grabbed the other, covering his mouth with his hand before he could yell for help, but he needn't have worried, a little like Flounce, the man had laid eyes on the Dark Prince, and an initial struggle of surprise turned to statuesque dread. Draco smiled at him, not a nice gesture, and then the hapless wizard went the same way as his colleague.

"As you requested," Draco continued to be obstreperous and wagged his wand at the two crumpled individuals. "So, now what?"

"We take their places, get down into the hallway, and when we're close enough, I cause a diversion so you can blast the doors," Harry gabbled quickly.

"Oh, so much better than waltzing down there, magic blazing," his companion mocked.

"At least it gets us downstairs before we have to fight for it," Harry argued back, feeling even more absurd about the petty one-up-manship in which he was, none-the-less, partaking.

Draco didn't answer back this time; he just started removing the nearest Death Eater's robe like he was trying to damage the man.

* * *

Two minutes later, as long as no-one looked down at their bare feet, or too deeply into their hoods, two ordinary-looking Enforcers joined their oblivious fellows and trotted down the stairs with a bag each of self-binding rope-capsules and some nasty transmogrification missiles. Draco led the way: Harry had decided not to argue, since his lover seemed to be cooperating with the plan as long as they executed it in his style. He kept his head slightly down, and tried to look like he was on an urgent mission, holding out the bag in front of him to make sure that the man at the bottom of the stairs with the clip board and quill was just going to see what he was holding, and not him. Draco was headed towards a second coordinator on the other side of the stairway.

"What's in the bag?" the ruffled official asked, wincing as there was a particularly loud bang from behind the doors and the whole room reverberated with it.

"Ropes," Harry muttered quickly, and was relieved when the man waved towards the old classrooms.

"Get them outside, quickly," he was told.

Draco had no more problem passing his coordinator than Harry, and, with a glance at each other, Harry headed in the direction he had been told, while Draco ducked behind a scurrying group of armourers and began moving through the melee towards the main doors. As he moved, Harry surreptitiously reached into the bag of weapons and wrapped his fingers around the deceptively tiny capsules that, if thrown at a person, would wrap them in six metres of iron-like rope.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, Draco was almost near enough to play his part. However, as he began to pull his tools of distraction from their home, Harry had the need for a diversion taken away from him.

"I need assistance here!" a familiar voice bellowed across the room, but when Harry looked over to the source of the call, he barely recognised Julian Maersmith.

It wasn't just that the man was covered in blood, his robes were torn and burned, and he was carrying an semi-conscious young woman in his arms, it was Julian's whole demeanour that struck Harry. The once unhappy, conflicted healer sounded purposeful and sure of himself. The young woman whom he was struggling to carry was moaning, and it was her blood which was covering Julian's tunic. Everyone else ignored the healer, even when he teetered and then collapsed to his knees, sliding his charge onto the floor, but, remembering the risk that Julian had taken for him, Harry could not leave him struggling alone. He dropped the rope capsule back into the bag and ran over to the healer and patient.

"What should I do?" he asked, keeping his hood up, his head down and his voice gruff to avoid recognition.

He dropped to his knees on the other side of Julian's patient and was told, "Put your hand on her leg and stem the bleeding."

Harry did as he was instructed, pressing hard with the sleeve of his robe onto a gash on woman's thigh: she screamed, but Harry knew his magical first aid, and he just held firm. It looked like Julian was about to perform healing in the middle of the floor, he ripped at the patient's top, her modesty less important than her life as he revealed a deep wound running from bra to navel, and Harry watched as the man aimed his wand and started to cast. Harry was now not the only one watching the unfolding drama, runners were stopping and staring at the woman who was struggling for life and Julian trying to seal the injury.

"Her heart's been damaged," the healer muttered to himself, and Harry went cold as he remembered that feeling.

His memory distracted Harry for a moment, and he lightened his press; Julian noticed. He elbowed Harry, catching him by surprise, and he looked up, right into the healer's face: any chastisement that had been ready did not make it out of Julian's mouth as, even in the shade of the hood, the man recognised Harry.

"Her heart," Harry quickly reminded the healer of his charge, and pressed back down on the leg wound.

The urgency of the situation saved Harry from whatever more reaction was to come from his companion, but as Julian went about the mending, Harry held his position with one palm while slowly reaching into the bag once more with his other hand. He glanced over his shoulder again, and saw Draco stood amongst the casters holding the door, his wand pointed at the doors in a similar manner, but his hood was facing Harry's way, and Harry just knew he was glaring, even if he couldn't see his lover's face. Harry couldn't move from his position, he knew the woman's life was literally under his hand, and Death Eater, or not, he was not going to sacrifice her when the healer he owed such a debt was working so hard to save her. Instead, he laboured from a much more difficult position, carefully pulling out a handful of rope capsules and holding them close to his chest.

Harry watched Julian fix the woman's heart, a small beam of purple light bathing her chest, unwilling to disturb what looked like a delicate operation. However, when she took in a deeper breath and Julian paused, Harry acted.

"Can you help her alone now?" Harry asked directly, and Julian looked at him like he'd almost forgotten who was under the hood. "Yes, or no?" he prompted, indicating with a nod down to the bloody leg.

"Yes," the healer replied, and shifted down the woman's body, and then he smiled at Harry as he added, "Yes, thank you."

Satisfied his debt was paid, Harry stood up and stepped away from the healer. Then he threw the ropes randomly in front and behind. The first volley of capsules drew the attention of those in his immediate vicinity, and their complaints sounded more like they were assuming someone had dropped the spells. However, as people swore and grumbled at him, Harry looked around at them, and, when he thought he had enough eyes on him, he flipped back his hood. Even without his scar, his face was well known, and when he shrugged the robe the rest of the way to the floor, people really took notice. Harry enjoyed the fear of those around him: he had suffered their contempt, and now he was more than happy to inspire some terror. He met a few gazes, and some people actually flinched. Harry gave those around him long enough to take a shocked breath, and then he launched a second volley of ropes and included some shadow bombs this time before diving away from his current location.

Several spells burnt the floor where he had been standing, but far more people just fell out of his way as Harry ran at them. He was a fox amongst chickens, and feathers started to fly. Considering he did not even have a wand, Harry was impressed by the chaos he managed to cause. Death Eaters fell as ropes gripped them in strangleholds, and others blundered around in isolated pockets of gloom as the bombs went off. Yet more fell to their own comrades as some Enforcers, ignoring the close quarters, let off badly-aimed hexes and curses at their self-proclaimed quarry. Harry ducked and dived and very quickly drew the attention of most of the entrance hall.

When the chaos was dense enough, Draco struck; Harry felt his gut lurch and then the cavernous room filled with the echoing scream of wrenching wood. With the rest of the room, he turned and stared at the large pair of ancient doors that stood between the battle outside and those within. The wood was bowing inwards, to a point that normal physics would have seen it splinter and break, but this was magically infused wood, and so it strained, unbroken, into the room. Draco may have been dressed like the dozen or so Enforcers who were struggling to keep the doors closed, but it was plain to see which member of that party was doing the damage, because, unlike the invisible spell that was keeping the door closed, magic was arcing from Draco's wand and, like a plasma ball, it was streaking all over the doors.

Used to watching his lover's back, Harry glanced around the room: people were drawing their wands, and he knew there wasn't much time. One, or two good stunners, and it would all be over. He needed to weaken the line, and so, with nothing better than himself and the few bombs he had left, Harry charged at the nearest group of casters. He slammed into two, sending them flying, and downed another with a magical rope, and the screaming of the wood grew louder. Draco was convulsing with the amount of power he was throwing at the door, so much so that his hood fell back, which distracted a few more of the people he was trying to defeat, but it still wasn't enough. Harry tackled another pair of legs: he would take them all down one by one if he had to. Yet, the Enforcers were on to him, literally, as a couple bodily tackled him. He kicked and wriggled, but they were big men, and they weren't afraid of him. A well laid punch forced all the air out of his body, and, coughing, Harry went weak.

Harry struggled as much as he could, knowing all he could do now was provide a distraction and hope Draco could break through. However, as the moments dragged out, and the odds of success dropped, someone altered the playing field. Harry saw several spells bounce off Draco, sparking against his shield, and he felt the echoes of the impacts: it would not take much more. Yet, suddenly, the screaming reached a pitch that split Harry's ears, and the doors flew open. Draco went sprawling backwards, along with those around him, and a wave of fighters came charging into the room.

Harry cheered as he laid eyes on their leader: Remus Lupin. However, there was no time for more than a brief recognition from his friend, because the pitched battle moved from outside to inside. Clearly without a wand, Harry was an easy target for the two Enforcers who were trying to sit on him, and he could not extricate himself to join the fight. He was busy pushing at the man on his chest, trying to get away before he was hit by any type of incapacity spell when the self same form of hex hit the man from some distance off. His colleague went the same way, and left Harry sprawling under two unconscious bodies.

"Need some help there, Lad?" Moody's voice sailed over to him, and after another couple of stunners, the man himself appeared from the crowd.

A couple of heaves and Harry was free of the bodies, and then Moody offered out his hand. Gratefully, Harry took the offer and was pulled to his feet.

"Merlin, Lad, you look half dead," Moody observed, giving him a quick appraisal.

"Well, since I've been all the way there, that's an improvement," Harry quipped back, his spirits soaring.

Alastor gave him a quizzical look, which, with his magical eye, could have been unnerving, but Harry was too buoyant to care. After an almost casual defensive spell over Harry's shoulder, Moody continued to stare, and his appraisal was becoming closer.

"What do you mean?" he asked about the previous comment, and then added, "And your eyes, what happened?"

At that moment, a flash of white light barely missed the pair, and it galvanised Harry into action.

"Explain later," he promised, and then began moving towards where he had last seen Draco, then he remembered important news, and yelled over his shoulder, "By the way, Voldemort's dead."

Alastor raised his eyebrows in shock, and then grinned, but he was then gone in the crowd, so Harry concentrated on avoiding spells and pushing through the skirmish. However, his words had not only reached Moody, and the news spread like wild fire. The response was a second surge forward, and cheers from many quarters. Trapped in the melee, Harry did not find Draco, instead, he found Remus, Tonks, Hermione and Ron standing back to back and firing off spells at the fighting around them.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks greeted, grabbing him and pulling him into their defensive group. "You look rough."

"You're the second person to say that," Harry returned, "but killing your nemesis takes a lot out of a guy."

"He's really dead?" Ron sounded like he wanted to believe, but didn't dare.

"He's more than dead, he's gone completely," Harry clarified, beaming at his best friend, and being swept along as their group lurched as one further into the atrium.

"Well done, Harry," Remus added his understated praise to the moment, albeit that he was distracted by a volley of hexes.

"Couldn't have done it without Draco," Harry added, and asked, "Have you seen him?"

"We picked him up, but he just asked us if we knew where his father was," Hermione informed him. "We had intelligence that he's commanding things from the Great Hall, and he headed off in there."

"Thanks," Harry replied, and immediately began to move off: homicidal Draco was very close to suicidal Draco and he wanted to be there to help when his lover went up against the Governor General.

However, Ron grabbed him and asked, "Where do you think you're going, Mate, you don't even have a wand?"

"I'll manage," Harry caught himself snarling defensively as his emotions concerning his partner came out rather too strongly.

Ron stared at him, hard, for a few moments, and Harry wondered if he was ever going to let go of his arm. Harry was not going to back down, but he did not want to force things unless he had to. He could see the loyalty and protective instincts towards him in Ron's face, and at any other time, he would have been grateful, but right then, they were in his way. Harry wasn't sure what emotion he was showing his best friend, not once he had backed off the snark, but whatever it was, Ron released him.

"Take these," Ron offered, unhooking a pouch from his belt, "they'll knock out a giant."

"Thanks," Harry returned sincerely, taking the new source of weaponry.

Ron smiled at him, concern still behind his eyes, but Harry hoped he saw understanding there as well.

"Go!" Ron then finished, and fired off a hail of blasters which scattered Death Eaters left and right in the direction of the Great Hall.

Harry sent Ron a grateful grin and then ran.


	69. Confrontation

Being infamous was usually a burden in battle: Harry had always had enemies queuing up to score points with their masters by killing him, and he was expecting no less this time. However, he began to discover that when you were famous, looked like you'd already had a hard time killing something and the word was spreading that your greatest enemy was dead, people got out of your way, whether they were on your side, or not. With a bit of shoving to boot, Harry made it to the large doors of the Great Hall without throwing a single, whatever it was that Ron had given him. Yet, there were some people who weren't intimidated by a nasty grimace and a reputation, and a perimeter of them was being set up in front of the Great Hall when Harry reached the entrance. There were at least two dozen wizards and witches, their robes showing them to be Master Enforcers, who were forming into several ranks of defence, and had already managed to make a six foot space around them. Reaching into his weapon's pouch and quickly running pods through his fingers, Harry knew he did not have enough, so, he hovered on the edge of the perimeter, and looked around for some other means of breaking through the line.

"Need some help, Little Brother?" came to his timely rescue, and he found himself surrounded by Weasleys.

It had been Fred, or George who had greeted him, but Ginny, Charlie and Bill were also in the redheaded party, and en masse, they were rather imposing. Harry grinned at them and, pointing at the wall of stern-looking Death Eaters, he told them, "Need to get through there, think you can help?"

His adopted family looked at each other, but there was no real need for a conference, it was clear Harry's cavalry had already been informed.

"Fancy three minutes of invisibility?" Fred or George asked, shaking a bottle which was decorated with the bright colours of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.

"Won't make me turn blue or anything as well, will it?" Harry checked; it was always good to check with the twin's products.

The Weasley twins looked at each other, and as one decided, "Now that's a good idea," but then whichever one wasn't holding the bottle shrugged and shook his head and finished, "but no, you'll be your colour when this is over."

"Although, you're filthy anyway," Charlie added over his shoulder while firing off a couple of defensive spells.

Ginny elbowed her brother in the ribs, which meant his last blast went in completely the wrong direction and took out a picture of a particularly unhappy-looking old man, who yelled loudly as he landed on a Death Eater below. Harry ignored the retaliation of his long-time friend, not wanting to think about why she was stopping her big brother from mentioning how he looked, and Charlie just appeared confused, a lot like Ron did when Hermione tried to be subtle.

Bill also ignored the moment between siblings, took charge and offered, "Right, you get that down you, and then how about we blast you a path right through the middle of 'em?"

Harry's grin became a beam, and he nodded with, "Thanks."

"Anything for family," Bill winked back at him.

Harry didn't really have time for the warm, fuzzy feeling that grew up inside his chest at the light teasing, but he indulged it anyway, just for a moment.

"Oh, and by the way, since you are family now," Ginny added, the fight with Charlie clearly forgotten, "that means if you get yourself killed, Mum will never forgive you, or us."

"Be there, done that, not intending to do it again," Harry returned, wrinkling his nose as he tried to keep the darker thoughts of death away from the flippant comment.

It was then that Ginny had a better look at his eyes, and her mouth formed into the little 'o' it always did when she was surprised.

"The orb?" she asked, her tone breathy and unsure.

Harry nodded, and he felt a little of the horror of his death coming through; the friends shared a look of sympathy, and Ginny rubbed Harry's arm, but that was all the time they allowed themselves. The battle was raging around them, and even though his adopted brothers were doing a very good job of protecting himself and his sister, Harry mentally shook himself and put indulgent thoughts away for later. He took the proffered bottle from Fred or George, downed its contents, which tasted of mint, and then nearly threw it back up again as nausea spread rapidly out from his stomach.

"Did we mention that's a prototype? It's great stuff if you can keep it down," Fred laughed and waggled the bottle at him, where he just managed to read, 'Side effect: may cause vommiting'.

Harry held on to his stomach: he had put up with worse with Brutus' porridge, but glowered at the twins all the same. They just waved goodbye, and the sick feeling lessened to a light, fluttery discomfort. Harry looked down and saw himself disappearing from the stomach outwards.

"Oh, yes, and be careful, anything you're in contact with goes invisible within a certain radius as well," Fred or George mentioned as Harry saw his feet and then the floor disappear, making what looked like about half a foot of hole.

"It's the only way we could get the clothing to disappear as well," the second twin backed up his brother.

"Ready?" Charlie interrupted, looking back over his shoulder again, and since his eyes danced all over the space where Harry knew he was standing, he assumed he was all invisible by now.

"Yes," he remembered to speak rather than just nod.

"Okay, two volleys, and then you run for it," Bill decided.

Harry didn't think that Molly had been intent on breeding her own commando unit, but still, all of the Weasleys were crack shots, and Enforcers went flying left and right as their concentrated blasters shook whatever defensive spells were in use. Two volleys did indeed clear a temporary path, and, on his toes, Harry went barging between the dazed Death Eaters. More blasters and stunners followed him, as his cavalry made sure he made it through the line without detection, and then Harry stumbled into the Great Hall proper.

Taking no chances that someone would look down and see holes appearing and disappearing in their floor, Harry ducked straight behind the first group of people he saw, putting them between himself and the rest of the room. The witches and wizards were gathered around a square table, and they were fixated by its contents, muttering to themselves and moving pieces about on the table with the tip of their wands. It took Harry a few seconds to realise that, even if he had been visible, these workers would not have seen him: their eyes were eerily unfocused, and they were not looking at the pieces they moved, they were in fact looking into space, and their eyes were colourless: their bodies may have been in the room, but Harry recognised far-seeing when he saw it. The technique was normally considered dangerous, since too long spent out of body could mean permanent blindness, or even worse, but it did not surprise Harry that the Death Eaters would use it; he only wondered if these people were volunteers or conscripts. Still, there wasn't time for such considerations, and so Harry leant over one oblivious shoulder and took a look at the table top, and discovered on exactly what the remote viewers were eavesdropping. What he saw was a map of the grounds of Hogwarts with innumerable chess-like figures all over its surface, fighting and running. Near the lake, there was a whole group of purple statues on their knees, surrounded by black ones.

Harry's non-invisible instincts kicked in and he took several steps backwards as someone else besides him took notice of the viewers. He stopped himself after only a pace or two, however, and watched a little man approach the table. Glasses halfway down his nose and clipboard in hand, this man was certainly not unaware of his surroundings, and he trotted over, standing on tiptoe to get a view of the battle.

"We've lost fifteenth Patrol," he bellowed over his shoulder, "send the forty first to see what they can do."

Then the wizard was gone, scooting over to another group of table and legs, and he yelled, "The enemy are moving up to the first floor."

Harry came out from hiding and took a better look around. There were numerous tables spread across the hall, with similar captive audiences to those around Harry's current location, and several officials trotting between them: this was a war room. At the head of the room, there was a dais, on which stood a chair, but that seat was empty, its owner standing a few paces in front of it on the edge of the platform. Harry froze, a mixture of fear and anger welling up inside him: he wanted to hurt this man, make him pay for the hours of humiliation and pain he had suffered at his hands, and if he had had a wand, nothing would have stopped him. Yet, without a weapon, Harry was forced to watch and he quickly gauged that a game was being played.

Lucius Malfoy was as fixated as any of his remote viewers, except it wasn't on something outside the room, it was on Draco, who was striding up between the tables towards him, Enforcer robes billowing out behind him. Members of the war room staff who could look, had a furtive eye on the entrant, but since their Governor General was not yelling commands at them, they were being good little drones and doing nothing. The look on the father's face was somewhere between reverence and suspicion as he watched the body of his son approach. Clearly he had not expected Voldemort to enter the war room dressed in the leftover rags of the ceremony, but he was not stupid enough to be outwardly hostile.

"Things are not going well, Lucius," Draco spoke with a lilt that made Harry shiver as it reminded him of dark places and all things evil.

"No, My Lord," Lucius picked up on the same deception, and immediately fell to one knee, reverence overtaking Slytherin distrust. "I am endeavouring to right the situation I discovered on my arrival."

"Always ready to blame another," Draco chided, and made Harry cringe as he saw Lucius risk an upward glance at the dig.

Draco was stood with his hands on his hips, his stance openly dominant, but Harry couldn't see his face, and that concerned him, since he had no idea what Draco's plan was. Wanting a better view of the coiled spring that was his lover, Harry cautiously began to make his way up the hall, keeping behind tables where possible to hide the floor effects of the invisibility. He was halfway up the hall before the tableau moved again, and Harry knew that any deception was over: Draco laughed. The expression deriding and angry, and all Draco. Lucius looked up again and he did not drop his gaze this time.

"Draco?" he queried, his eyes narrowing and his tone hardening.

"You were expecting someone else?" Draco snarled back, and pulled his wand out of his sleeve.

Whatever his failings, Lucius Malfoy had honed his duelling skills to perfection, and he was gone from the vulnerable position before Draco had cast his first hex. A blue light hit the dais and the wooden platform burst into iridescent flame. However, only Harry was left looking at it, because father and son were far too lethally intent on each other to bother with a missed spell. Lucius fired back a couple of curses while he was still on the move, but Draco deflected the first and dodged the second, and finally Harry had a look at his face as he spun around to follow his father's side step; Draco was not operating on anything near an even keel, Harry could see that from the rage in his lover's face, and nothing mattered but his father. Harry glanced around at the rest of the room and came to a different conclusion. The lackeys were no longer just doing nothing: they were unsure, after all, they were watching the Dark Lord's heir fight with the Dark Lord's general, the choice was a dangerous one for any who backed the wrong wizard, but some were drawing their wands and clearly trying to decide. As father and son went at it, Harry charged at the nearest subordinate and took him out with a running tackle.

The unfortunate wizard disappeared as Harry touched him, and two invisible bodies descended to the ground, but Harry saw the man's wand reappear as it went flying across the room; he heard the crack of skull on stone accompanied by a groan and his target went limp. As soon as he registered the man's unconsciousness, Harry rolled off him, away towards the cover of a table, and left his colleagues to deal with the unresponsive body. He eyed the wand a few feet away, but one of the approaching Death Eaters picked it up as he announced rather unimaginatively, "There's something in here with us."

Harry smiled to himself and growled under his breath, enough to make the man skitter away, wand brandished towards the area which Harry had vacated as soon as he'd made the sound.

"I think it's an animal," the unsettled official told his colleagues, clutching his clipboard to his breast like it was some kind of armour.

"If it is, it doesn't scratch or bite," one of the brighter brethren disclosed, prodding her fallen comrade, but she still eyed the room carefully.

Harry put the table of still oblivious far-seers between himself and the observant witch, just in case she was too clever for her own good. For the second time in a few hours, playing decoy seemed to have worked for Harry, because every lackey was now paying more attention to their fallen peer, and consequently their own hides, than the battling Malfoys. Harry paused behind his cover, fumbling with the invisible fastening on Ron's pouch, but anxiously keeping an eye on Draco, fearful about the clearly reckless way he was going about duelling his father. Harry couldn't help himself, with the immediate threat of the other Death Eaters out of the way, he left them to try and rouse their fallen colleague and, for as long as he dared, focused back on his lover.

Draco may not have used a wand in five years, but he had always been formidable at school, and it appeared that he had lost none of his spark, because he was parrying Lucius' spells with what looked like ease, and launching plenty of his own. What rough edges there were, Draco was covering with his added extras, and his spells were not always coming from his wand. The duel was almost elegant as the two deadly accurate casters dodged and reflected and attacked, spells bouncing left and right, up and down. Yet Draco was too emotional, Harry knew it from long hours of battle training when the need for a clear head had been blasted into him and despite the flare, Harry could see gaps in his play.

"What's the matter, Lucius, don't you like the new me?" Draco taunted as a blaster nearly knocked the Governor General off his feet, and he dallied long enough over the gloat for his father to retaliate.

Harry tensed, his heart in his throat as he watched red light streak out at his lover, but Draco did not look the least concerned, and his side step was almost leisurely. The stunner sailed past and took out one of the seers, who went down without even a murmur. At least it had been a stunner and not something more fatal, but Harry knew Lucius' caution would not last for long.

"I have quite a few new tricks," the son jeered at the father once more, and the final 's' developed into a hissing sound.

Something brown and glutinous followed the sound, arcing from Draco's mouth at Lucius. Whatever the substance was, it splattered across the front of Lucius' expensive-looking jacket and over one arm. For a moment, Harry thought Draco was still hissing, but his lover had closed his mouth, and was watching Lucius look down at the mess: the hissing was coming from whatever Draco had spat at his father. Lucius was looking concerned, but unsure, and so Draco prodded again, "Surely you remember this one, Lucius? You selected it. Bathing in that potion made from Thunder Salamanders was bad, but drinking it was even worse."

Lucius had started to scrabble at his coat as soon as Draco mentioned Thunder Salamanders, and Harry wasn't surprised. Their venom had no toxic effects, but given thirty seconds exposure to air, it exploded. A Thunder Salamander was only four centimetres long, and their venom was used to clear debris in their burrows, and to dissuade possible predators, but Draco was significantly larger, and there was a lot of venom covering the jacket. Lucius may have looked like he was panicking, but when he hurled the jacket away from him, he actually threw it at Draco, such that both father and son dived for cover. Halfway through its arc, the cloth was ripped apart by an explosion that sounded like a hundred thunder storms. Small pieces of jacket flew in all directions, along with the shockwave, and several co-ordinators were knocked off their feet. Luckily for Draco, so was Lucius, which meant that a spell he sent off under the cover of his arm while vacating his position, went awry and made a blackened mark on the wall.

Draco was back on his toes in seconds, and casting more hexes in quick succession, but Harry was forced to shift his attention, as the subordinate Death Eaters began to take notice of the fight that was threatening them. He reached into the pouch he had finally opened and pulled out a couple of the pellets that resided within. It was actually quite difficult to gauge what he had between his fingers, since he couldn't see it, but Harry separated two from the rest, and taking one in each hand, approached the gaggle of officials. He lined up two targets, in disparate locations in the loose group, one of whom was the overly clever female, and then threw his weapons. Bright pink, egg-shaped pellets appeared, sailing through the air, as they left Harry's hands, but they were moving too fast for anyone who even managed to see them to do anything about them, and they landed on their targets almost simultaneously.

Pink powder exploded outward as the pellets contacted with body, and Harry wondered if these items were also from the twins' stock as, covered in lurid neon, the two victims collapsed. The falling of their comrades scattered the group, who had gathered around their first collapsed colleague, and some of them headed towards exits. However, Harry went for one of the men who stayed, and he popped out of view in the same manner as the other wizard had done. This one wasn't as easy as his comrade, however, and Harry found fists landing painfully on his ribs as he entered an invisible tussle. They rolled over and over as each man tried to gain supremacy, and Harry could hear the watchers' comments about the floor where it was disappearing every time his back hit it. It was difficult to defend against fists you couldn't see, and also landing his own hits was causing Harry problems. However, during one roll where he landed on top of his adversary, Harry was satisfied to hear the sound of breaking wood, and half a wand appeared on the ground as the tussle left it behind.

The fight was confusing for those looking on, they could hear the scuffle, but they couldn't see it, and Harry kept it up as long as he could, since it took the attention away from Draco, but the simple fact was that the opponent he had picked was bigger than him, and without surprise on his side, Harry was eventually kicked off the wizard. He went sailing backwards and hit table leg and spellbound seer, who crashed down on top of him.

"It's a man," the once more visible official informed his comrades through his puffing.

Harry rapidly extracted himself from the pile of limbs he had become with the remote viewer, and slid under the table, hoping the shadow of the furniture and the crumpled and oblivious witch, who was still muttering to herself about stairwell eleven, would hide the floor effect. The retreat worked, as eyes scanned the immediate vicinity, they failed to notice Harry's hiding place. It also meant that Harry once again had the full attention of Lucius' staff, and they were ignoring the duel. Harry gave the battle a quick glance through the legs of those concealing him.

Draco was moving like a man possessed, his anger coming out in yells as he sent off spells so varied Harry could not see any offensive pattern to them. Lucius was not faring so well as logic and even cunning were failing in the face of sheer enraged power. However, it was clear to Harry that Draco was not taking full advantage of his position, in fact, when he battered Lucius with four concussion jinxes in a row and Lucius was wide open for an attack, instead of using a spell, with the scream of a madman, Draco charged his father and used his fists. There was pain in the cry, and Harry began to realise that Draco had underestimated the familial ties that stood between him and the death he wanted for his father.

The Malfoys disappeared from his view, and Harry leant forward to get a better angle on them round one of the pairs of legs in front of him. However, as he shifted his weight, he glanced down and saw his hand; more specifically he saw a vague outline of his hand as it began to appear, and his own situation took priority again. The fluttery feeling was beginning to disperse, along with his invisibility, and Harry chose to take advantage of his wraith-like appearance. Transparent, his face set in a murderous grimace and growling menacingly, Harry barged out from under the table, seers falling left and right, and went for the nearest Death Eater. The man was terrified by the spectre that came at him, and put up no resistance at all, in fact, dropping his wand in shock. Harry tried to grab for the weapon, but he was too late, so he grabbed his opponent around the neck and pulled him in to his body, using the trembling man as a shield.

Harry had not given his victim enough time to really see him, and he continued to growl into the man's ear as he half strangled him. However, his colleagues did have a good view, even with the human shield in the way, and some bright spark called, "It's Potter."

There was an instant reaction from the fist-fight-come-duel: Lucius froze and worded his disbelief with, "Impossible!"

Harry glanced over his shoulder at the grim tableau that both Draco and Lucius had become at the mention of his name. He smiled grimly at the shock in his enemy and watched it turn into bitter anger. The look in Lucius' eyes was now close to that of his son, and he snarled at his minions, "Kill him."

"No!" Draco yelled, and resumed his attack on Lucius.

Harry saw no more, as, directed by their master, the Death Eaters began to move in. He held his shield tightly, backing towards one of the tables to give him some cover from behind, but he was nearly in the centre of the room and surrounded by at least a dozen armed people. Harry knew that sacrificing one to achieve your aim was a Death Eater policy, and he did not hold out much hope that his shield would last long if he persisted in using him. The man was more use conscious than a possible dead weight, and so Harry shoved him at two of his opponents and moved rapidly in the other direction. Several spells collided where he had been, and hit the floor either side of him, and Harry was forced to run straight at the table that he had been trying to use to cover his back. He would have dived underneath it, but more blasters went off at his feet, and so he leapt upwards.

Landing on the table was awkward and heavy, and Harry crashed to his knees, battle pieces sailing out of position and also digging into his legs where he knelt on them. It hurt, and he was winded, but Harry knew his life depended on keeping moving, and so he scrabbled to his feet, trying to gather his wits, but staying hunched down among the circle of seers, using them as a barrier as he did so. However, some bright spark began picking off his protection with stunners.

"We can make this quick and painless," someone called to him, as Harry shifted to try and make the most of his disappearing shield.

Harry had meant what he had said to the Weasleys about not intending on dying again, and the dark thoughts about the last time crept up on him as that possibility solidified. Yet, he was not going down without a fight, and he began eying up the wands all around him that were now pushing non-existent figures around: they didn't look like ordinary wands, they were uniform, and fatter than most wands he had seen, inelegant like a child's replica of an adult object might be. Still, they were the only options he had, and so Harry pulled one from unresisting fingers while its owner continued his job like he still had hold of it. Taking a deep breath, Harry stood up very rapidly.

As soon as he cleared the heads of the seers, something hit Harry and he froze in the standing position, unable to even find out if the wand would have worked. He was surrounded by the officials who were still conscious, their wands all levelled at him, and their faces grim.

"We said we could make this quick, Potter," the wizard with whom he had tussled walked round the table to make sure Harry could see him, and his face said he wanted revenge, "but you seem to think that you're holding a weapon. Do you really believe that we would give these slaves full wands? But, it does display a disregard for our lives, and as such, you need to be punished before you die."

Harry was not looking forward to more torture, but he saw it in his enemy's eyes, so he just glared back, unable to do anything else.

"I wouldn't try anything if I were you," Remus' familiar voice said behind Harry, and the Death Eater's face showed surprise and then anger.

Harry was facing away from the main doors, and the sounds of battle from outside had been so constant, he hadn't realised that they had made it inside the room.

"Drop 'em," Ron's tones backed up Lupin's, and then Harry was free.

Immediately, he turned and found himself facing most of the Order covered in various battle scars, but to a person, they had their wands trained carefully on the Death Eaters. Tonks' hair was blackened down one side, along with smuts all over her face, but she was beaming at him. Remus' coat was torn, and one hand was bloodied, and he had an authority in his manner which challenged anyone to refuse it. Moody and Kingsley were holding each other up. Even Severus was stood among the group, his wand aimed at their enemy, although Harry could see that his attention was split between his task and the fight still ensuing further up the room. Hermione looked like she wanted to blow something up, but was holding herself in. The many and varied Weasley clan were looking spell-blown, but only Ron was in any pain, and his non-wand arm was hanging limp by his side. However Harry was impressed by the look of determination on his best-friend's face; he grinned at it and quipped, "What took you so long?"

Moody grimaced into a smile at that and chided back, "Always making a spectacle of yourself, Lad, get down from there."

Harry would have obeyed gladly, but then he heard Draco cry out again. He spun on the spot, back to the other end of the room, but what he saw was not someone injured, but someone in a complete fury. Draco had Lucius backed into his blackened, throne-like chair, but the man wasn't sitting in it, he was more draped over it as he defended desperately against blast after blast of magic. Any one shot could have killed, Harry knew that, but none did, and the pain on his lover's face told him why. Each blast was stopping Lucius from lifting his wand and attacking, but it did no damage. The father and son were stuck in more than just the magical conflict.

"Surrender, Lucius," Harry loudly offered a way out for both parties, jumping off the table and heading up the hall as he did so.

"If you don't want to die, do as he says," Draco took the offer and stopped the blasts, levelling his wand on his father instead.

Lucius was not so easy to convince, and his wand hand twitched.

"Do you really want to follow your master?!" Draco yelled, barely in control of his emotions, or by the feel of him, his magic.

Lucius' eyes widened in shock and clear disbelief, and he murmured, "Impossible."

"That's what you said about me," Harry tried to disarm the hard family moment, but the look of complete disdain and hatred that Lucius sent him made him realise that his word would not convince the zealot.

For a moment, he was at a loss, but then Harry remembered the rub of leather on skin, and, with a smile beginning on his lips, he reached up to his collar. His fingers searched the surface and quickly found something they had never felt before, a fastening. With satisfaction, Harry unbuckled the collar and, stopping in front of the dais, turned slightly to make sure the whole room could see, he pulled off the symbol of Voldemort's power and threw it on the ground at Lucius' feet.

"He's dead," he spoke simply and clearly.

Lucius clearly knew what the removal of the collar meant, and the disbelief disappeared from his features, leaving a void that it did not look like the defeated Governor General could fill. Harry was more than pleased by that reaction, and he felt a cry of delight building up inside, and he indulged the anticipation of it for a moment. However, before the expression could come out, the floor began to shake. Harry glanced at Draco, who broke from the fixed position of threat, which he had taken up when his hail of spells had stopped, and looked back. This was not an earthquake, something strange was happening, Harry felt it, and from Draco's expression so did he: they could both feel the magic whipping up. Something deep inside Harry told him to look up, and along with every other magic wielder in the room, he did so.

The sky outside was a little grey and rainy, but the clouds were tinged with the orange of the early morning sun. However, the image of it on the ceiling of the Great Hall shimmered, and the deep golds of the cloud linings donated themselves into new shapes: words began to form in the sky. Harry shivered as a sourceless wind cut right through him, and then he heard a deep, inhuman voice boom out the contents of the writing,

"For all to know here lies the truth,  
Of that which passed below this roof.  
Were needed two this land to purge  
Of Evil and its dreaded herd.

One, Dark of Light, The Boy Who Lived,  
Prophesied from birth to give  
His life or else another's take  
Our world a safer place to make.

The second, Light of Dark, came late  
To the fight to find his fate.  
Magic of ten has been the cost.  
At risk, his soul of being lost.

Suffering had made them one.  
Set apart, they stood alone.  
Both were marked by Evil's blows.  
Together they against him rose.

Dark of Light the power did send,  
Into the Hand of Light, and then  
Light of Dark the power he took.  
The Dark Lord did his soul forsook.

From either side they took their place,  
Evil's Master they did face,  
To beat the Darkness back again  
And free our land from Virtue's bane.

The Dark Lord is No More."

The words formed in time with the voice that made Harry tremble right to his core with each sound. This was the magical world making a statement, and it defied anyone not to listen. Whether the sky was reflecting the ceiling, or the ceiling was reflecting the sky, Harry had no idea, but he felt the words as well as hearing them, and his spirit soared as the final proclamation affirmed the fact which he knew as deeply. Smiling, he dropped his gaze back to earth. His contentment lasted as long as it took him to realise that Lucius had reacted badly to the message.

Lucius did not move his wand hand, but his other arm shot out, throwing the contents of a pocket at Draco. The item was a very specific colour of green that Harry knew well, and with a warning yell at his lover, who was still looking aloft, he tried to catch Vipera. However, the little snake hit Lucius' target, and Draco convulsed with a scream as the serpent performed the function for which she had been bred. Harry's stomach tied up in knots as Draco's magic curled around itself, and for the first time Harry realised why Vipera's venom was so painful: it attacked magic as well as body. He reached for Draco, who was already falling, but could do no more than slow his fall. The pair crashed to the ground, Draco writhing helplessly as the snake's venom took away his ability to function. Harry grabbed the serpent, ripping her off his lover and throwing her across the room, but the venom took longer to relinquish its power.

"Av-," Harry heard from Lucius, and he looked up.

His enemy's face showed absolute hatred, no qualms, no other thoughts, but pure loathing, and Harry stared into it, his instincts rising. This wizard meant to kill them, of that Harry had no doubt, and he had no defences. Draco's wand had gone flying when he collapsed, and there was no chance of a magical donation as Draco struggled with Vipera's venom: it was just Harry versus Lucius, a lethal, armed Lucius. The voice of Hogwarts was still reverberating around inside Harry, waking parts of his being that had been locked away since coming round after taking in Draco's expelled power during the rune removal, and the purity of Lucius' hatred inspired clarity in Harry. More sure of himself than he had ever been, Harry yelled, "No!" and retaliated.

Lucius never finished his cast: power erupted from every fibre of Harry's being and he channelled it at the man who had tried to destroy him agony by agony. Something akin to lightening arced from Harry to surround Lucius Malfoy and swept the man off his dais up into the air. Lucius screamed. The sound was half angry, half pain, as if the indignity of the attack held as much sway as the power that tore at the wizard, and Lucius thrashed against the bindings, but Harry held him fast. Part of him didn't like the sound of agony, recoiling in horror at the burning power that drew smoke from his enemy's body, but other parts of Harry, those gnawed at by the torture inflicted on him, watched in open appreciation of the revenge and forced it on. However, defence had been the main inspiration for the eruption, and when Lucius' wand fell from his hand, there was no more concept of threat. Revenge was not enough to sustain the wall of magic that Harry had thrown out, and the shock to his system was too much. The lightening disappeared, and with Lucius' cries echoing in his ears, Harry passed out.


	70. Waking up to a new world

Having entered and exited unconsciousness so many times in recent weeks, Harry's brain was becoming accustomed to the slow return of senses, and he became aware of his surroundings bit by bit. The first sense to return was touch: he was comfortable and warm and nothing about his situation set off alarm bells, so he drifted in the sensations of blanket and pillows for a while. Taste came next: his throat was dry and his mouth tasted of left-over potions, but nothing too awful, so still he drifted. Unintelligible mumblings gained clarity gradually, and it was Draco's voice that brought Harry all the way out of his own world.

"Have at you, Weasley!" his lover challenged, and Harry's paranoia picked up on undertones of hostility in the sound, making him wary.

His mood was not helped when the Weasley in question, Ron, threw back, "Got y'now, Malfoy."

His friends were fighting, was the conclusion at which Harry's sleepy brain arrived, and without any other thoughts forming, he came round properly feeling a little depressed. However, another voice he recognised chimed in to the verbal repartee and Poppy Pomfrey chided, "Mr Malfoy, Mr Weasley, if you disturb my ward any further, I shall separate you and you shall both return to bed."

"No, please, Madame," someone who was neither Draco, nor Ron called from a greater distance, "they're such good entertainment."

Now thoroughly confused by the mixed messages his brain was trying to interpret, Harry relied upon the only recourse left to him: he opened his eyes to find out what was going on. He was lying in bed, which wasn't a surprise, but Ron and Draco on either side of the end of his bed, playing a heated game of Wizard Chess, was not what his brain had been expecting at all. His worry evaporated and unable to help his responses, Harry chuckled. He wasn't very loud, or very animated, but Harry's laugh was enough to alert those around him to his return to the world. Ron and Draco immediately abandoned their game, and headed up the bed.

"Welcome back, Mate," Ron greeted, leaning slightly over the bed and grinning broadly; his arm was in a sling and he was in his pyjamas, but otherwise, he looked happy and healthy.

Draco was also in a dressing gown, and there were no visible marks of battle. He was much more tactile than Ron; he grabbed Harry's hand and reached out to stroke his shoulder as he too greeted, "Hello, Harry-Love."

The second part of the address was said slowly and quietly, but with an earnestness that made Harry's stomach do somersaults and he wanted to kiss the head that was lowered close to him. However, there were calls of welcome from other places in the room, and so, after a private moment, Harry's inhibitions got the better of him and he took notice of the further environment. His bed was one of more than his dozy brain could count and for as far as his misty eyes could see in a long, clean room, and every bed was occupied by someone. He rubbed his eyes, not quite believing them, and Ron handed him his glasses. Gratefully, he put them on, and the world distorted horribly. Quickly, Harry pulled them off again, and the room came back into focus. It was not something he'd noticed after the intensity of coming back to life, but it finally occurred to Harry that the world had been in focus the whole time. He glanced at Draco and murmured, "You mended my eyes as well."

At that, Draco looked very pleased with himself. However, someone was taking such revelations more seriously, and, as Poppy came up behind Ron and took Harry's wrist in a very familiar gesture, she asked, "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Bit woolly between the ears," he replied as his thoughts refused to move very fast.

"No change there then," Ron quipped, and a groan ran round the room.

Harry just grimaced at him and, as his wrist was released, dropped his glasses on his lap, and then dug his elbows into the mattress to try and sit up. There was no problem with his strength, but he was incredibly stiff, and he was grateful for a hand from both Draco and the one-armed Ron.

"How long have I been out this time?" he asked, stretching his unused muscles.

"Only two days," Draco shrugged casually, and Harry only began to gauge that he was teasing when he continued, "only enough time for Britain to be free again."

"Really, it's all finished?" Harry couldn't believe his ears; even in his most hopeful scenarios, he had considered that it would take time to sever the Death Eater control of Britain.

"London fell this morning," Ron nodded enthusiastically. "After that ceiling thing, everyone more or less just surrendered on the spot at Hogwarts, and then Remus led our lot that were still standing off to take back Britain: only Nottingham resisted, all the other regional headquarters just handed over the keys."

"We're free?" Harry just had to check again.

"He takes a lot of convincing, doesn't he?" someone called from down the room and on the opposite wall.

Harry grinned at the laughter at his expense: the levity was refreshing.

"We're so free, Mate, that the politicians started moving back in at lunchtime," Ron added, and Harry couldn't help it, at the reference to Fudge and his bureaucrats, his mood soured.

"The rats have returned to the ship then," he growled, and glared at the sheet before he could feel guilty about ruining Ron's joke.

"That lot won't last long," Ron loyally threw in his support for Harry's sentiment, but Harry still didn't look back up.

The very thought of Fudge trying to waltz back into his position, which had been cleared by the lives of others, made Harry's blood boil and there was nothing he could do to hide that fact.

"Why don't you become Minister, Harry?" someone suggested, but that idea certainly didn't appeal, or make him feel any better.

Harry had not intended to sulk, especially not with the good news all around, but his thoughts wandered round the oath he had made before leaving for Britain. Then he had not thought he would be alive to see it through, but that did not change his sincerity and for a while, he mused on how he could accomplish his aim. However, his brooding thoughts were interrupted by a loud clattering at the end of his bed, and he looked up to see the chess pieces dancing wildly over the board. As he concentrated on the odd distraction, Harry felt his insides react to magic being wielded, and he glanced from board to Draco and back again, bemused as to why Draco would be messing about with the chessmen. His confusion just seemed to inspire the leaping of the little figures, and each of them gained an aura as the magic clearly grew stronger.

"Mate, don't break my chess set," Ron requested lightly.

Harry glanced at his best friend, even more confused by the casual appeal: Ron just grinned at him, clearly amused and pretty unconcerned about his pieces, but Harry didn't know what the amusement was about. When he looked back at the game, the pieces were actually flying, swirling round each other in spirals of soft light.

"Harry-Love," Draco addressed him quietly and calmly, and ran a hand over his shoulder to stroke his neck, "put them down."

That initially made even less sense, and it didn't help when some bright spark yelled, "He's off again."

They were clearly referring to him, but it felt like Draco was working magic.

"Just relax, let the magic go," Draco spoke again, almost a whisper and straight into his ear.

That didn't help with the flying, as Harry's libido took notice of the intimate gesture, and the little men started spinning faster, but the reaction did make Harry take notice of the feeling inside, and it was different to Draco's external influence.

"Oh," he managed as he began to associate the magic with himself, and his heart beat faster at the idea, and he repeated breathily, "oh."

"Breathe, Love," Draco continued to speak, calm and in control. "Bring the magic back inside."

It was a strange feeling as Harry realised the butterflies were this time under his control, and it took his a long while to isolate the magical feeling from the rest of his senses. This wasn't like summoning his concentration when using a wand, this was the opposite, he had to think to make the magic settle, and Harry wasn't sure how to do that.

"Relax," Draco repeated, and with a deep breath, Harry was relieved when the pieces slowly settled back to ground in tandem with the butterflies.

As the last piece settled down, a round of applause startled Harry, and the little man wobbled furiously as the magic took longer to let it go. Harry glanced around the room, and, it was, in general, smiling at him, and making light of what could have been a worrying moment. Harry, himself, wasn't sure what to think, but Draco seemed to be on the side of the room as he cajoled, "Well done, Love, makes a change for me not to have to do it."

Harry gave him a quizzical look; he was smiled at and told, "You've been doing things like that since you passed out."

"Why?" Harry asked, not sure he wanted to know.

Draco laughed, which made Harry feel a little ridiculous about his worry: it couldn't be too bad, but he was having problems recalling exactly what had happened in the last few minutes before he blacked out, and so his concern remained. Draco either didn't notice, or was being deliberately facetious, because he patted Harry on the back and condescended, "Well, rather than taking your time about these things, like any sensible person, if you will go assimilating your magic all at once, these things are going to happen."

"Assimilating?!" Harry was perturbed by the use of the term that had only before referred to Draco, "But I don't..."

Things in Harry's brain began to catch up with him, and his memories started to clear: he remembered the magic, he had felt it from the very core of his being, but his mind was protecting itself from something, and he was having difficulty pushing through it.

"Don't have any magic to assimilate?" Draco stood back from him and frowned, but the look became another grin and he countered, "Oh yes you do."

"Did the orb do something?" Harry asked, reaching for an explanation while trying to figure out what it was he couldn't remember.

"The mix and match that went on while we were bringing you back from the dead might have had an effect, freed things up a little," his lover informed him, still with a lightness that contrasted strongly with the sense of foreboding that Harry couldn't shake, "but you've had this little lot locked away in that Occlumency-trained brain of yours since you helped me get rid of it."

Harry opened his mouth to contradict that theory, but he stopped himself: he remembered the feeling of being encased and filled with magic, and threads of that experience rang true with the sensations that he had felt when juggling the chessmen.

"Now there's no arguing with Albus, he's never wrong about these things," Draco teased, sitting down on the bed and nudging Harry as he tried to make sense of the revelation.

"That's what you were talking about behind my back," he accused, albeit absently as he kept pushing at the fog surrounding his Great Hall memories.

"The Old Fart," Draco started affectionately, much to the amusement of everyone else, who seemed to be listening in on the conversation much to Harry's chagrin, "advised that I had to let you work it out for yourself, but that a prod or too wouldn't matter."

"But why now?" Harry asked more of himself than anyone else, and there was no reply from beside him.

Harry concentrated on the feeling of the magic, and what he had seen of the flying chessmen, and his trepidation increased, but for a moment he didn't know why. Then, suddenly, the image of the chessmen bathed in iridescent light was replaced with one of Lucius Malfoy writhing in lightening.

"Oh Merlin," Harry muttered, not sure what emotions he was feeling as he remembered the defence he had put up against his enemy; he glanced at Draco, whose face was now serious, and he couldn't read it, so he asked carefully, "Lucius, did I, is he?"

"Dead?" Draco asked, his voice cold and flat. "Yes, very: crispy round the edges. Thanks for finishing it."

Gratitude wasn't something Harry had been expecting, and he certainly couldn't accept such a sentiment when he thought about the brutal retaliation he had sent at Lucius. Death of another was sometimes necessary, he had learnt that in war, but with the drive of the moment gone, the stark reality of what he had done did not sit well with Harry's self image. Had he delivered justice or just revenge? Thankfully, no-one gave Harry enough time to really contemplate that thought, because Ron continued with the insight of a real friend, "He got what he deserved, Mate. Don't go busting yourself up about him."

Calls of support came from around the room, which didn't make Harry very comfortable, but did distract him from his thoughts. His discomfort was noted by his healer, and she intervened before his feelings of exposure could grow stronger. She waved her wand towards the near end of the room by what was obviously her office, and several sets of screens from beside the room came rolling towards them.

"Harry, since you have been through a prolonged period of unconsciousness, I am afraid I will have to interrupt things to conduct a short examination. Mr Weasley, if you would excuse us; Mr Malfoy, I would like your assistance if that is alright," Poppy announced smoothly, pulling the screens around the bed in double quick time.

Ron didn't look too happy at being ejected, he would clearly rather have stayed, but he took it on the chin, and with a smile and nod, he said, "See you later, Mate, Malfoy, Poppy."

"Thank you, Ron," Poppy dismissed, also with a smile.

Harry relaxed a little once the barriers were in place, but there was too much going round in his head to settle much.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" his healer repeated, less formally this time, and then added when he did not reply immediately, "Do not worry, these screens provide sound-proofing as well."

Draco wrapped an arm around him as Harry sighed and admitted, "I don't really know. I feel fine, strong enough I mean, but what have I been doing with my magic?"

"Nothing serious," Draco immediately assured him, and Poppy nodded when he decided not to trust his lover, and looked to her.

"You have been through a lot, Harry," Poppy told him calmly, and with a sad smile. "The release of your magic is just one aspect, with which, due to Draco's experiences already, we are comfortably familiar. The absorption of the orb has affected Draco as well, the silver in your eyes is only the superficial symptom, but Draco has shown no ill effects so far, and after a few days, I will probably be able to say the same about you. If I had had more staff, I would have placed you and Draco in a private ward, not merely for your magic, but because of your celebrity. However, we are stretched to the limit."

"So where exactly am I staying for these few days?" Harry decided to be practical and waved his arm in the general area.

"Room of Requirement," Draco announced and beamed as he added, "Didn't take them long to unlock it."

"It is the only room big enough to hold the casualties from the battle," Poppy explained. "It provided two wards, one for the Resistance fighters, of which I have charge, and one for the Death Eaters, which Neville is leading."

"How many casualties were there?"

"Too many," Poppy declined to answer, "but I am happy to say that most are on the mend."

"Where did they all come from?" Harry turned to Draco this time, returning to the wonder he had felt when leaning out of the window over the battle for the first time.

Draco at least understood him, although their healer looked confused, until his lover returned, "They got the prisoners out of Azkaban to the mainland, and then they received word that we'd been captured. Apparently, the guards had been taunting them with the futility of your surrender for weeks and when Remus tried to get them to follow the planned route, he nearly had a mutiny. It was Hogwarts or nothing for most of the adults, and some of the kids if Remus had let them, so he gathered the rest of the Resistance people, who weren't ferrying kids to safety, and mounted an attack."

"It was a very bold gesture," Poppy did not sound like she approved completely.

"Were most of them Gryffindors?" Harry joked, and caught himself laughing, mostly in awe at what had been accomplished by the ragtag army.

* * *

After what turned out to be a real examination, Harry had been assured that he was healthy and then Poppy had agreed to leave the screens up for a few minutes, although she had said that she would need them back for other patients soon. Draco had stood silently by the bed, just watching, his hands in his pockets and a frown mixed with a smile on his face while Madame Pomfrey had gone about her work. When the healer left, Harry immediately looked up at him and held out his arms. Draco descended into his embrace, and the pair sank back into the mountain of pillows behind Harry's back. Harry shivered as tension slipped away and he opened his mouth to taste his lover. Draco pushed at him, pressing hard and rubbing tongue firmly over Harry's top lip. Survival felt wonderful: in that intimate moment, it didn't matter what had gone before, or what would come afterwards, all Harry cared about was that he was alive and close with the one he loved.

The embrace had to end, however, because it was a little too intense to allow breathing, and Draco drew away, gasping in air. He looked across at Harry, face half hidden by misplaced bangs, and his eyes glittered in the shadow.

"I've been wanting to do that every minute you've been lying here," Draco murmured thickly, and it was more than lightening in his gaze.

Harry reached up and moved the hair out of his lover's face, and stroked his cheek. Draco instantly kissed his palm, and Harry knew that if it hadn't been for the limited nature of their privacy, he would not have been wearing his clothes long. Yet they were in a room with many other people, and the curtains seemed very thin to Harry's sensibilities. He sat forward and grabbed Draco again, satisfying himself and his partner with another passionate kiss, and then he whispered in Draco's ear, "Save that thought."

Draco laughed, and they parted once more, but each partner kept his fingers running over the other compulsively.

"Why didn't you tell me you thought the magic was still inside me?" Harry eventually asked the easiest of the difficult questions that were in his thoughts.

Draco almost looked away, Harry saw his neck muscles twitch, but he stopped himself, and, although his smile went away, he was honest in his expression. There was pain there, but also some of the know-it-all Slytherin.

"I knew how difficult it was for me," Draco replied, equally as plain with his words, "and both Albus and I thought you were dealing with enough. It was safer and easier to let your defences come down naturally."

"I wouldn't call what I did to Lucius natural," Harry threw back, a little annoyed at being protected.

"On the contrary," Draco cut right back, and grabbed Harry's chin to stop him looking away. "After what he'd done to you, and what he was about to do, it was completely natural. You protected us both, and so what if you took a little revenge as well?"

Harry didn't have any reply for that, not when Draco understood so clearly that it had not all been defence. He dropped his gaze and his face when his lover released him, not liking the part of himself that had been capable of the lightening storm.

"Buck up, Potter, we won," Draco snapped at him, and he glanced back up in shock at the harsh words.

Draco wasn't smiling, he didn't even look loving, but as soon as Harry met his hard gaze, his lover descended on him again. Harry tensed for a moment, shocked even more by the mix of emotions, but his libido was not buried very far below the surface; he pushed back, needing the contact. The urgent press of lips this time slowed into a more gentle caress, and the distraction did its job, forcing away the doldrums in favour of an easy lust.


	71. Disruptions

Being celebrities in a public ward meant that, once the screens had been utilised elsewhere, Harry and Draco had no shortage of people with whom to hold conversations. In fact, Harry was hoarse by the time supper came around. He had been provided with many opinions about the war, and a general consensus that unless he and Draco had been captured, there would have been no second battle of Hogwarts, so that, by their ineptitude, he and Draco were responsible for the ending of the war. Oddly for Harry, Draco, with two days head start, was more at ease with those around them than he was, and most, if not all, seemed to have moved past the history of the Dark Prince.

In public, Draco was all smiles and jokes, sweeping along the general atmosphere of jubilation that surrounded them. Yet, despite having the bed right next door, Draco stayed close to Harry, sitting on the bed, and in private looks, Harry could see that there was much more going on underneath. Harry had to satisfy himself with the fact that this mask was at least more engaging than those he had seen before: Draco was charming and witty and very attractive. The attractive part was something Harry dwelt on at length. He was healthy and strong and, for the most part, in as good a mood as those around him, and his libido came as part of the package. Draco was being gently affectionate, nothing too overt in the public situation, but he was not hiding his feelings either. However, that just made things worse: Harry was very glad of the blanket covering him, and he spent most of his time with his knees pulled up to his chest, trying to subdue any urges that a toss of the head, or a winning smile gave him.

It didn't help that it was not only Harry's libido that was reacting to his mood, but his magic as well, and every so often, little incidents occurred. Any time he was anything but calm, Harry's magic reacted, normally victimising the person or thing on which he was focusing his attention. His rather too great exuberance in a discussion on the best way to beat a Death Eater at his or her own game led to an unfortunate incident whereby the witch to whom he was speaking ended up covered in feathers when one of her pillows exploded. She took it all very well, giggling uncontrollably for about five minutes, but Harry found the entire thing somewhat unnerving. He didn't like being out of control. Yet, there was nothing he could do about the situation except apologise and take any ribbing that was coming to him: Ron, on the other side of him to Draco was enjoying teasing him far too much as far as he was concerned.

Still, Harry was in a good mood and hungry by the time the smell of food assailed his nostrils, and his stomach grumbled so loudly that not only Draco, but Ron heard it as well. For the umpteenth time, Harry was laughed at: he glowered at his best friend, not too hard, but he was not going to take such glee lying down.

"Well, I haven't eaten anything for two days," he countered, "you start complaining if you haven't eaten in two minutes."

Ron blustered at that, but Harry could see the redhead was not trying too hard to find a comeback, preferring to play the clown. Ron was good at that: in training he had always been the one to lighten a sometimes dour mood, usually at his own expense, and with the buoyant atmosphere around them, there was no stopping him.

"You got nothin' on Pinbury, 'ere," someone yelled from right down the other end of the room, laughing as he spoke. "Give 'im 'alf a chance and 'e'll 'ave yer rations off yer plate."

Harry started laughing with the rest of the room, and looked towards the disclosure. He saw the caller first, a small man with a patch over one eye and a very bruised face, who didn't seem to be bothered by either as he laughed and indicated across the room onto Harry's side. The young man leant forward to get a better look at Pinbury, who was sat in his own bed, an open book now resting in his lap. Pulling off a small pair of pince-nez, the other patient also leant forward and looked up the room: Harry's spine turned to ice as he looked into the face of Villainous. Anger was his instantaneous response, and Harry was out of bed in seconds, pointing at the visage he had come to hate almost as much as Lucius'. Yet, he remembered the facts over this man only too well, it had been a disguise by Voldemort, and Harry froze at the end of Draco's bed, still pointing, but not knowing what to say. Draco was by his side quickly, hands on both his shoulders, but his presence did not stop the man's book from flying off his lap.

"Harry," Draco tried to get his attention, but the scared-looking man at the end of the room had most of it.

Anger at the creature who had taken pleasure in demeaning him welled up in Harry, and the part of him who recognised the face wanted to do damage. However, the logical part of Harry that knew the face had not been real kept him from following through, but he could not back away from the conflict.

"Harry," Draco spoke again, as smoothly as possible, but his voice was cracked from his own recognition.

"Villainous, it's not him is it?" Harry sought confirmation, as, thankfully, his target remained prudently still.

"No, it isn't Villainous," Draco returned with enough confidence to persuade Harry to put his arm down.

Harry's heart was thundering in his chest, and he couldn't take his eyes off the figure who had made him beg for mercy, but he did not look with anger, not after the assurance, instead, he looked for the differences that told him this man was not his gaoler-cum-torturer.

Poppy and a couple of her staff came hurrying down the space between the beds, one man stopping at Pinbury's bedside, while Poppy put herself between Harry and his target. Other patients were out of bed as well, some of them with wands in their hands, but the chief healer ordered, "Everyone, back to bed, now."

Most obeyed, but the room was buzzing with the incident, that, for Harry at least, was not yet over. He looked round Poppy, still searching the face that was looking back at him for the signs that Villainous did not exist. This man was thinner than Villainous had been, almost gaunt, and he eyes seemed bigger, more open as he gazed at Harry.

"Harry, what is going on?" Poppy asked calmly, but firmly.

"Villainous," Harry responded, but then added for his own sanity's sake, "Pinbury looks like Villainous."

Madame Pomfrey frowned, but it was in thought, and she glanced back over her shoulder and told Pinbury himself, "Mr Pinbury, I believe we have finally discovered the reason that you were incarcerated in Gryffindor Tower."

"Really?" the man returned, his tone cultured and quiet.

"You were in the Tower?" Harry asked, stepping round Poppy and walking up the room, and he knew his urgency made him sound severe, but Pinbury was not inspiring calm in him.

"Y-yes," his target stammered, looking a little worried by the rapid approach.

The male healer stepped in Harry's way, a move at which he glared and prepared to step round the obstacle, but it gave Draco enough time to catch up with him, and Harry found firm hands on his shoulders once more.

"I'm not about to blast him," he snapped at Draco, and then the world in general as he was surrounded by concerned people, "I know he's not, Villainous."

"You may think you're not about to blast him, but your magic's all over the place, remember?" Draco remained attentive and worried.

"The worst I've done so far is send his book flying, and that's when I first saw him. I think my magic is okay," Harry objected to the caution, and then he leant round the healer-barrier and asked directly, "Do you mind if I talk to you, Mr Pinbury?"

Pinbury looked for a moment like he would decline the request, but Harry reigned in his need for answers surrounding this wizard and smiled, and Pinbury took the olive branch.

"I would rather like to discover the truth myself," Pinbury decided, and indicated to the seat beside his bed.

At that, the healer moved out of the way and left Harry staring at Pinbury. The man just blinked at Harry, amazingly calmly as far as Harry was concerned, because just looking at the image of Villainous was making his insides churn. He was trying to focus on the differences, for a start, the soft look in Pinbury's eyes, but he was hanging on to a brainstorm by the skin of his logic.

"Please, sit down, you look like you need to," Pinbury offered. "I am sorry if I have given you a shock."

"Wasn't you," Harry kicked himself and took the offer. "Was just someone who looked like you."

Harry took in a couple of deep breaths and was glad this time for Draco's comforting hands on his shoulders as his lover took up position behind the chair.

"Since I am well aware who you are, maybe I should start by introducing myself," Pinbury continued, with a gentle smile that Harry had never seen from Villainous. "My name is Jason Pinbury, I am a tailor by trade, and until a few months ago, I was plying my trade in Edinburgh."

"You don't sound Scottish," Harry observed, not managing to equate the tailor part with the large, albeit, thin man in front of him.

"I'm not," Jason smiled wider and explained, "but my wife is."

"Oh," was all Harry had to say, still having difficulty with the easy information. Yet, his brain was piling up questions for this wizard, and he blurted one out before he thought about how difficult it might be to answer, "How did you end up in Gryffindor Tower?"

The smile disappeared, and Jason fiddled with his glasses as he replied with a little more agitation, "In the same way you did: I was arrested. They never saw fit to give me a reason."

"I think we should give you gentlemen some privacy," Poppy interjected as Harry and Jason just looked at each other awkwardly for a while.

There was no audible groan from the rest of the room, but Harry saw a few nosey parties sigh before screens rolled up around them. He relaxed back, resting his head on Draco's stomach and began again, "I'm sorry, I did not mean to suggest anything. I just never knew there was someone else there."

"I believe I was but a floor above you," Jason replied, frowning as he added, "Until now, I was unaware of why I had been given that dubious honour. Who, may I ask, is Villainous?"

"One of my gaolers," Harry returned, a growl in his throat. "It was Voldemort in disguise."

Pinbury was aghast at that, clearly disgusted by the association, and he checked, "He took my form?"

Harry just nodded.

"It must have been polyjuice," Draco interjected smoothly as the atmosphere thickened between the other two. "Did they take something like your hair?"

Pinbury turned his head and displayed the back; his hair was slightly longer than average, but there was one clump that was almost shorn all the way to his scalp.

"Polyjuice," Draco agreed with himself, and then extrapolated, "Voldemort sometimes frequented the Old Town in Edinburgh, he must have seen you and thought you imposing enough to use."

"A tailor?" Harry decided to let out his incredulity of the profession with the large man.

Harry bit his lip as he realised he could have sounded very insulting, but he was relieved when Jason laughed.

"You are not the first to make such an observation," he was told, "but I have never wished to be anything else. My mother was a seamstress and my father a milliner, and I grew up playing with odds and ends of cloth. I used to make jackets and dresses for fairies out of them."

"Fine work indeed," Draco sounded impressed, and Jason's smile widened once more.

"You are certainly very different from the character who wore your face," Harry threw in his opinion.

"Good."

Jason's eyes flashed as he spoke, and Harry saw pain there. He did not hold back from asking, "Were you still there when the castle was freed?"

Pinbury nodded and looked down at himself as he answered, "I was fed and watered for months, quite well, and I was given the opportunity to keep active, but I never knew why. However, it has been ascertained by those who freed me, that about the same time as you escaped, my gaoler's visits became less frequent, and then about a week ago, they stopped altogether."

"Was it Brutus, did he leave you to starve?" Harry was horrified, but not surprised.

Jason nodded silently.

"Bastard," Harry snarled, for the first time finding common ground with the look-a-like.

"Indeed," his companion replied very philosophically.

* * *

Harry didn't sleep well that night: his mind was full of highs and lows and nothing in between. Victory was almost as distracting as the dark thoughts that haunted his dreams, and he found that the deaths of both of his enemies had altered his nightmares. He did not allow himself to sleep deeply, but his dreams were close to the surface as he tried to sort out the good and bad from the last few days. His talk with Jason had not exactly been comfortable, especially since he had had to accept that a man he liked had a face that would always make him shiver. However, the polite, reserved tailor had been mainly a good thing, since his presence reinforced the falseness of all for which Voldemort had stood. Still, Harry tossed and turned, trying to make sense of his own thoughts.

Eventually, Harry lay on his side and stared at the man with whom he would rather have been sharing a bed. Draco was a much more pleasant prospect than nightmares, or trying to understand all the changes he had been through, and the calm visage soothed Harry's psyche. Harry did not intend to disturb his lover, but after a long while of intense staring, Draco rubbed his ear, opened his eyes, rolled over and stared back. In the dim light of the night time ward, Harry saw the wheels within wheels of their new world reflected right back at him. It was a comfort to know he was not alone in being overwhelmed by all the changes around and within, and Harry just lay still in his partner's gaze.

* * *

Laying awake half the night and staring at his boyfriend, had not only made Harry tired, but horny as hell as well, but that made the embrace he was currently in with his lover all the sweeter. Sneaking to the bathroom had not been easy, and Harry had paced for a full ten minutes waiting for the agreed knock from Draco. The reward however, was well worth the wait. It felt incredibly good to be pressed up close against his lover, and the thin pyjamas did very little to disguise how aroused both partners were. It was always the same, nothing mattered when he was in Draco's arms, and Harry didn't want anything to matter, his brain hurt from things mattering, and not thinking about anything but passion was helping him release the tension in his body. Draco was shivering away steel knots from his muscles as well, and Harry gladly helped, rubbing just about any part of his body against any part of Draco's. Harry couldn't get enough of the feel, smell and taste of his lover, and for once since waking from his stupor, his magic was leaving his emotions alone.

However, the two young men had not been kissing for more than a minute or so, hardly enough time for Harry to refamiliarise himself with Draco's lips let alone the rest of him, when there was a thump on the door. Harry had been so intent on Draco that the sudden noise made him start violently, and he stepped back from Draco, glaring at the door. There was another couple of thumps in quick succession and the pair glanced at each other guiltily: they were caught.

"Harry, Mate, it's you in there, isn't it?" Ron's voice called through the door, surprising Harry even more that his best friend would disturb him.

Harry grimaced and called back, "I'm busy."

"You're even busier out here, Mate," Ron clarified, and added, "You better come and see."

Draco began to do up his dressing gown, a look of disdain on his face. Harry hastily followed suit, not sure whether to be worried or just embarrassed at being interrupted.

"You go first," Draco told him quietly, "sort out whatever is going on, but make it last a little while."

Harry nodded, not trying to decipher Draco's reasoning, just deciding to obey. He tried to make sure he was presentable, and then opened the door. He stuck his head cautiously through the small gap he made. The three bathrooms that furnished the entire ward were in a side corridor, but Harry did not have to look very far, to the end of that corridor in fact, to see his handiwork. Swirling around each other like playful stars in dancing orbits were two beautiful balls of white light, both sparking silver. Now he was not solely concentrating on Draco, Harry could feel the magic flowing freely and there was no doubt he was the culprit. The magic he had generated caught his attention completely with its beauty both for his eyes and his magical senses. He opened the door more fully, and walked slowly up to his creations. Their dance slowed as he approached, and there was no doubt in his mind that his slowly fading ardour was playing the tune to which these spheres were pirouetting. Harry reached up to them both, smiling to himself, and they danced around his hand, never quite touching.

"Er, Mate, you think you could get rid of them?" Ron interrupted Harry's reverie, and when Harry blinked at him, he looked a little nervous.

The frustration of being interrupted a second time made the small stars spin faster for a few moments, and their influence prickled the back of Harry's hand as his direction grew less careful. Yet Ron pointed to a chair next to Poppy's office, which had a big, burnt hole in its seat, and someone else held up a sheet also missing two chunks that matched the size and shape of one of the energy balls. It had never occurred to Harry that the raw magic in the spheres was dangerous, and they popped out of existence as shock replaced wonder.

"You alright, Mate? You've gone white," Ron asked, finally approaching him, and Harry just stared at him and then around at a swiftly gathering company of fellow patients.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured, ignoring the concern in favour of his own guilt. "I didn't mean to."

"Mean to what, Potter?" a strong, sarcastic tone came from the other side of the crowd, and Draco pushed his way through.

How his lover had made it from the bathrooms to the other side of the group of people was a mystery to Harry, but he was glad to see him, even if he was standing there with his hands on his hips like he was about to deliver a telling off. Harry just shrugged at him, not quite sure what it was he had done to conjure the pretty, but destructive spheres. He did not have an opportunity to reply anyway, because Madame Pomfrey appeared from the far end of the room, clapping her hands and ordering, "Alright, everyone back to bed. The show is over."

Draco walked up to Harry, and with people turning their backs, ran a hand over his arm and smiled sympathetically. Ron rolled his eyes, well aware what had been going on, and all three prepared to head back to their beds as per Poppy's orders. However, when they turned, the healer was standing in their way, hands on hips and in full authoritarian mode. She stared them down, which Harry thought was a little unfair on Ron, but his best friend stood shoulder to shoulder with him and took the glare. Then, once all three young men were well and truly focused on her, the woman indicated silently to the door of her office. Meekly, they filed in.

Harry was very glad to be standing between his boyfriend and his best friend as he waited for Poppy to close the door; he was feeling a little sick as his mind thought on how dangerous his creations had been. He was ready to take the full burden of guilt for the early morning incident, but when Poppy took up position behind her desk, her gaze ran heavily over all three of them.

"Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, I will not have any part of my ward used as a rendezvous for your assignations, am I clear?" Madame Pomfrey began firmly, revealing that whatever tricks Draco could play on the other patients, it had not worked on their healer.

Harry and Draco glanced at each other: Draco was trying not to smile, but Harry's worried gaze chased away that amusement, and when the couple looked back at their healer, they nodded sincerely.

"Good," the woman nodded. "You are here to heal, not to disrupt your own treatment, or that of anyone else."

That might have been it had the pair been the only ones stood in front of Pomfrey, but then her gaze settled on Ron.

"Ron didn't know," Harry quickly defended his friend, feeling very much like he was back at school.

Poppy ignored him and spoke to Ron, saying, "Mr Weasley, I thought I asked you to keep an eye on our amorous duo."

Harry's mouth fell open, and Ron looked sheepish as Draco too rounded silent indignation on him.

"Well, you two don't have any self control," Ron defended, and then told Poppy, "Sorry, I was asleep."

Harry had had this conversation with his present company several times, so he was more annoyed than embarrassed. However, he remained silent.

"Yes, Mr Potter, I can see you dislike the idea, but not everyone in here is as open minded as your friends, and I will not have you disrupting my ward by causing differences where there need to be none," Poppy challenged Harry's scowl, and surprised him with her frankness.

Llewellyn had been the only person to show open aversion to his sexuality, and Harry had assumed that had more to do with who he was than his bisexuality. This was something that in the scheme of day to day survival had not occurred to him, but it appeared from Poppy's warning that it was going to have to start to be something he considered. Draco rubbed his arm and when he glanced at him, he knew his shock had been registered, but that the Slytherin had been thinking ahead of him. No overt gestures now made sense, and Harry didn't like it.

"Just for now," Draco soothed Harry's anger at the idea of concealing the bond about which he wished to shout as loudly as possible.

"How long is now?" Harry demanded, refusing to be soothed.

"As far as I am concerned, only until after breakfast," Pomfrey surprised Harry again, and the pleasant shock almost made him forget about the earlier statement.

All three young men looked to Poppy for clarification of what she was saying, and, with a smile she disclosed, "Harry, you are fitter than you have been since you came into my care, and, Draco, I have had you remain purely for Harry's sake. Harry, you now only require the willpower to control your magic, and practising that, I believe, is better done in private. Ron, I would keep you in for another day with that arm still healing, but then that would most likely saddle me with these two anyway, plus any number of your friends and family, whom I am informed are returning to Hogwarts this morning. As such, I am also discharging you, but no rough or heavy work for another two days."

"Wizard's honour," Ron returned with a grin.

Poppy rolled her eyes and waved at the door, dismissing them with, "Go, and do not let me catch you disrupting my ward again."


	72. Misadventures

Harry pulled on his Molly-knitted jumper, which had been supplied along with his and his friends' clothes and affects by Poppy after breakfast. He stretched the wool down over his chest, and took in the smell of the Burrow, which never quite left the fibres, before he met the world on the other side of them. He glanced over to his lover, smiling as freedom beckoned, but he held back the full expression, inhibited by the warning Poppy had delivered to him.

Harry hadn't touched Draco either since leaving Poppy's office, unsure of himself, and wondering who might take offence at his relationship to Draco. Draco had seemed aware of his thoughts, and had not offered contact beyond the odd glance. Harry was also trying to keep his emotions in check, holding back from anything that roused them in order to stop his magic acting out. The endeavour had worked, mainly, and there had only been one further incident when Harry's boiled egg had jumped out of its cup and into his lap. Luckily it had not been broken and it had caused no more than a laugh and some more ribbing from the rest of the room. Still, the young man was glad Poppy had made the decision she had, because many more accidents and he thought he would remain beetroot forever.

Finally, Harry placed his hairbrush and toiletries into his bag and looked to his friends.

"Time to go," Ron announced, with the same grin in place that had been plastered across his face since he had found out his wife would be coming back to Hogwarts.

"After you," Harry waved his best friend in front of himself, and then he fell in behind him.

Draco brought up the rear, and slowly the trio made their way down the room, saying goodbye to anyone and everyone. People waved and smiled and generally commiserated that they couldn't go with them. Harry was very glad to be going: he was feeling exposed in the open environment, and despite the good will, he couldn't shake the way everyone's attention made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. However, as they approached the end of the room, the attention became less onerous as a call came from the back of the ward, "Harry, Draco."

All three young men turned round and looked at Jason, who was standing at the end of his bed, which was not going to please Poppy, because he was still on complete bed rest. As soon as he had their attention, Jason's smile broadened to a grin, and he bellowed, "Three cheers for the Saviours of Britain. Hip, hip..."

'Hooray' rang out from every direction, including from Ron, who very heartily slapped Harry on the back hard enough so that he took a rapid step forward and slammed into Draco. He steadied himself by placing a hand on his lover's shoulder and then watched over that shoulder, taken aback by the noise.

"Hip, hip..."

A second cheer sent shivers through Harry as the incredible amount of praise embarrassed and made him proud at the same time. He'd been in front of crowds who were cheering him before, but during war that had been a strange adulation which had placed the burden of figurehead on him. This gratitude was different, no expectations, just thanks, and he smiled.

"Hip, hip..."

The final shout quickly descended into clapping, and Harry discovered that Draco was a much better showman than he was; his partner performed a formal, flourished bow, which made people laugh and clap even harder. He then began to back out of the room, waving goodbye. Harry waved as well, and nodded his goodbye to Poppy as they passed her office, and then, with the shouts still ringing in his ears, Harry found himself in the corridor outside the Room of Requirement. Waking up in the ward, Harry had only reason rather than any other association to connect the large room with the magical chamber, and half of him had been expecting to be somewhere else, so he took his time getting his bearings. Draco it seemed was also taking him time, and was staring at the floor, a small smile playing over his lips. Harry ran his hand down the shoulder on which it had been resting, over the arm and took hold of the palm which was on the end of it. Draco glanced up at him, and he squeezed the hand he had taken, smiling back.

The couple shared a silent moment, knowing words could not adequately explain the mixture of emotion that they were feeling. Ron, however, was being far more practical, and he summed everything up in his usual, straightforward manner, landing a heavy palm on both friends' shoulders and interrupting with humour, "Now that the hero-worship is over, shall we go and explore?"

Draco blinked and cast his attention at their companion, and the moment was lost. Harry filed it away for later and let his lover decide, "Lead the way!"

Ron once again took point, and Harry turned to follow. However, in the quiet of the upstairs corridor he felt no need to hide things, and, comfortable once more, he went strolling after his best friend, the hand in his own held fast.

* * *

The seventh floor of Hogwarts was quiet, eerily so, but at the end of the corridor, there were clear signs of occupation, literally; barriers warned of danger beyond them, declaring 'Auror Line: do not cross', and arrows guided the group off the level by a planned route. At first, the explorers obeyed these signs, heeding someone else's wisdom, but when they arrived back at the point at which they had started, at the end of the familiar corridor, Ron declared, "I bet Peeves has been changing these."

From what the healers had been muttering during their stay in the ward, it had been clear that after years of staying in hiding from vicious Death Eaters, Peeves was flexing his poltergeist muscles once more, making a royal nuisance of himself, and Harry thought Ron's assumption was probably correct.

"Well, it's not as if we don't know the way," Harry shrugged, but both Draco and Ron looked at him and their attitude was not so light.

"Some of the Master Enforcers were less willing to surrender than their subordinates," Draco explained, "and they activated traps all round the castle that must have been laid just in case it was invaded."

"Our lot started sweeping for them as soon we realised, but they've started from the dungeons up, and last I heard they were only on the ground floor," Ron made a face.

"They're typical Death Eater ingenuity," Draco also did not look pleased, and clarified, "Nasty, vindictive, destructive and a pain to get rid of."

"There's only one route from the entrance to the wards, and if Peeves has mucked it up, we're stuffed."

Harry was rather surprised by his friend's attitude and he quipped back, "I thought we were going exploring. You and I are qualified to clear buildings, and I'm sure Draco doesn't need any help."

"Oh great, people will want my hide if I so much as let either of you two bang an elbow," Ron revealed his concern and the responsibility he had clearly been given.

Ron in the role of guardian was something Harry found oddly funny: during their Auror partnership days his friend had been more likely to walk into trouble than he had. He smirked and his best friend frowned, first at Harry and then at Draco. Ron also rolled his eyes and warned, "No. You hear me you pair of toads? No!"

Harry then glanced at his lover and saw mischief in his expression. The chance for a little anarchy at Ron's expense was too good an opportunity to miss, and confident that there was nothing they couldn't handle between their current position and the ground floor, Harry grinned at Draco. As one, they loosed hands, stepped one either side of the wall that Ron was trying to become and, joining hands once more, headed down the corridor the other way to the arrow.

"You're a bloody bad influence, Malfoy!" Ron accused, huffing when he was ignored, but Harry heard him quickly starting after them, and he called, "Well at least wait for me to go first!"

Harry had no intention of letting Ron take the brunt of the danger, not now he was aware of it, but he and Draco did stop and allow their friend to catch up.

"Draco, can you throw out something in front of us to trip any booby traps?" Harry decided to be practical, if nothing to stop the worried little wrinkle in his best friend's forehead.

"Not a problem," Draco agreed, and a shimmering wall of power appeared about five feet in front of the trio.

Harry gritted his teeth and hung on to his own magic as the butterflies in his soul wanted to respond: it was the first time he had felt Draco work magic since discovering his own, and the feeling was strangely pleasant if a little out of his control.

"You alright, Mate?" Ron asked for the umpteenth time in two days.

As his magic threatened to join Draco's, Harry reluctantly let go of his lover's hand: the effect dimmed, and he replied quietly, "I don't think I'm going to do anything."

"With a bit of practice, you'll be fine, Love," Draco told him confidently, clearly well aware of what was going on inside him.

"No time like the present," Harry agreed, taking the external surety in place of his own, and he indicated down the corridor.

Ron sighed, and then bemoaned, "You two are worse than Fred and George."

* * *

Ron did manage to persuade the adventurers to follow the signs, at least the first time they saw them, and despite Ron's fears, their journey down to the main entrance hall was fairly uneventful. Well, Harry thought it was uneventful, but Ron had nearly had apoplexy when Draco's shield had released a large flight of doxies from a suit of armour in the gallery on the third floor. Both of his companions had been of one mind when it came to protecting Harry, and had told him to get clear, but he had decided that practice was practice, and a few of the flying vermin had disappeared in puffs of smoke accompanied by a high-pitched pop; Harry hadn't been sure what magic he was using, to him it was all one mass of butterflies, but his instincts seemed to have chosen correctly, even if his head was unclear.

Ron, however, had been very clear about things once the doxies had been dealt with, he berated Harry for putting himself in danger.

"It probably wasn't even a trap," Harry argued back easily at the still agitated Ron while the trio strolled down the stairs to the entrance hall. "I expect they were just making their home there."

"They could have been magically altered doxies," Ron countered, sounding very much like his mother.

"Next you'll be saying you'll tell Mum on me," Harry chivvied as the association inspired him, winking at Draco as he pressed all of his best friend's buttons.

Ron huffed again (he'd been doing that all the way down), but he did not say anything else. He did however storm past the couple and down the stairs when Draco dropped his shield. This, it became apparent, was the wrong thing to do, because, very much like the Death Eaters before them, the Aurors had someone on duty at the bottom of the flight with a clipboard, and the woman bustled into Ron's path, bringing him to a frustrated halt.

"You can't come down here," she barked in a voice that could have shattered glass. "Authorised personnel only."

"Since the rest of the castle is off limits, where are we supposed to go then?" Ron snapped back, making Harry wonder if Draco was even rubbing off on his best friend.

The woman opened her mouth, clearly expecting to come up with an answer as she was talking. However, then she thought about the question and looked rather annoyed that she had no answer. Eventually, she scowled and replied haughtily, "That is not my problem, but you cannot come down here."

"Look," Harry decided to wade in to help his friend, and it worked at least a little, because the woman took a step back in what Harry judged to be awe as he finished his own journey down the stairs, "we're both trained Aurors, we can deal with booby traps, isn't that enough?"

At his request, the woman looked torn, but Harry could see the wheels of bureaucracy moving in her head, such people and Harry's reaction to them were the reason Percy had been appointed as his personal bureaucrat.

"I'm sorry," she managed this time, clearly intimidated by Harry, but her sense of order was not as she finished, "but I have my instructions, this is a delicate operation."

Harry sighed, unbeknownst to anyone else the first stages in what he knew would lead to a yelling match if it went the way things usually went. However, as he opened his mouth to argue, Draco joined him and held out a piece of parchment with an official seal on it.

"I am authorised to go anywhere in this castle," he informed the woman, who cautiously took the paper, "and my companions should be covered by the same authority."

Harry stared at Draco, who was smiling evenly, but blandly at the official, who may have been intimidated by Harry, but was downright scared of Draco. She unfolded the parchment and viewed the contents carefully, all the time with half an eye on her three trespassers. Ron looked impressed; Harry was just suspicious, although, tricking one of his pet hates would be a victory at least part of him would savour.

"All seems to be in order," the woman agreed reluctantly and handed the paper back to Draco, who nodded politely to her. "Please be aware that this floor is currently being swept for illegal retaliation devices, but that the dungeon is now clear."

"Oh good, I need to pick up some things," Draco breezed past the woman, Harry and Ron in tow.

The official watched them leave, so Harry held back from commenting until they were out of sight and down the dungeon stairs, when Ron in fact got there first with, "Good job, Malfoy. How did you whip up that note?"

"I didn't," Draco answered, and did not sound that triumphant about it; he revealed why when he explained, "I negotiated it out of Fudge when he was here two days ago."

"Fudge was here?!" Harry immediately objected to the odious man being anywhere nearby, and accused, "And you spoke to him?"

"He turned up with an entourage when everything was secure," Ron surprised Harry by defending Draco. "Said he was offering morale to the troops. Why do you think we had her to deal with?"

That didn't answer Harry's second question, and they came to a halt at the foot of the steps as Draco turned and looked directly at him. He didn't like the gaze he was being given, it was all Slytherin calculation and necessity, and he knew there was a lecture coming.

"Sometimes, one must deal with those one does not like in order to gain something one requires," his lover answered coolly.

"What's that, some kind of Slytherin life lesson?" Harry snarked back, any mention of Fudge making him defensive and distrustful.

"Diplomacy," Draco returned, annoyingly calm about everything. "I spoke with Fudge on several matters."

Harry was then left standing as his partner failed to explain further, turned on his heel and continued down the corridor.

"What matters?" Harry demanded and charged after Draco, leaving Ron in the rear.

His lover stopped once more, but did not turn this time, instead he said quietly over his shoulder, "Family matters."

That admission kept Harry's mouth shut: he had seen the pain encountering Narcissa had caused Draco, and he could hear the strain in his companion's voice now. He felt instantly guilty and stupid for not guessing that the evasiveness was due to more than just habit, and he was lost for what to do. Offering comfort would mean delving further into the 'matters', which Harry knew well by now was not something Draco would do in public, not even just with Ron around, but doing nothing left Harry feeling awkward. Draco resolved the dilemma by once more continuing on and Harry this time watched him go. Ron joined him as Draco disappeared into a room off their corridor.

"Problems, Mate?" he asked.

"If I go off on one again, hit me with silencio," Harry requested, which was enough of an explanation for his loyal comrade, who just nodded.

* * *

Harry and Ron approached the door through which Draco had disappeared with the same caution they would have applied to a booby trap. Harry wasn't sure what Draco's full reaction to the way he had dragged the information out of him had been, and he did not want to put his foot in it again. However, the momentary awkwardness evaporated in favour of wonder as, for the first time, he laid eyes on the surroundings to which his lover had been accustomed: his jaw dropped. Ron drew in a gasp beside him, and worded both their astonishment with, "Bloody hell, Malfoy, you could feed Britain for a week on what's in here."

This had once been the Slytherin common room, Harry recognised the outline, but the place was draped in finery the like of which he had never seen before: tapestries hung on the walls; a carpet so thick Draco's shoes had partially disappeared into it lined the floor; cabinets presented exotic and beautiful works of art; chaises of leather were dotted around the room next to tables which looked like they could have held any number of expensive food stuffs and drinks. Draco was stood beside one, idly fingering a glass that had been left behind. He looked up at the pair of Gryffindors at Ron's disclosure, and there was no defence in his eyes as he admitted, "My cage was certainly gilded."

Harry walked over to his lover and ran an arm around him. Pulling Draco in close, he asked, "Are you sure you want to be here?"

"I want to get the things that are really mine before it's all confiscated," Draco answered, straightening his back and placing the glass back on the table.

Draco walked out of Harry's hold, and pointing at an archway that looked like it had been blocked up a long time ago, he told them, "Through here."

From his one sortie into the Slytherin common room, Harry could barely remember its layout, but he thought they were walking towards the way to the dorms.

"Dragon's blood," Draco spoke to the wall as he was about to step into it, and it shimmered and disappeared as he did indeed walk through the now transparent obstacle.

Ron and Harry quickly followed.

"Lucius had this place remodelled before I was brought here," Draco sounded almost like a guide of a tour, but Harry could hear the tremors in his voice. "I believe he thought I'd be safest down here. That was the lounge. These are the guest quarters."

They were walking through a low-ceilinged corridor off which were well-dressed bedrooms. The first looked expensive, but ordinary enough, probably decorated for a woman, given the soft tones and frills. The second was much more masculine, but equally as boring, and the next few as well. However, Harry stopped outside a later room, shock and an erratic stab from his loins giving him ideas. The place was decorated in reds and blacks, silk and leather mixing unabashedly and steel also featured in the mix. Draco smiled, running a hand discretely over Harry's buttock as he explained, "Some of my guests had interesting tastes."

It could have been a hot pass between lovers, but Harry remembered one of the Dark Prince's guests all too well and the thought came out of his mouth with venom as he recalled, "Like Melody?"

Quickly he carried on walking, away from the reminder: maybe it was he who should not have come down into the dungeon. He paused at the end of the corridor, trying to let go of the momentary pique while he waited for his friends to catch up. Draco quickly joined him, returning the hug that he had offered in the lounge. Ron just looked bemused.

"Come on," Draco decided, "let's get my stuff and get out of here."

His lover led him round the corner and down a corridor that from Harry's old recollection of the dungeon layout, shouldn't have been there. He had tried not to frequent the place much, except for potions' lessons and the odd trip to the kitchen, but his sense of direction was good, and he knew he recognised the feel of where he was, and it hadn't joined to the Slytherin dorms. They walked for quite a way, as public rooms gave way to private corridor, and there was less dressing on these walls. Still, there was enough that Harry did not recognise the corridor outside the potions' classroom until Draco spoke another password and pushed open the door.

Harry wasn't sure what to think as he walked into what was clearly Draco's bedroom. It was a very fine room, the tapestries and throws and rich furniture left Harry in no doubt of that, but it was also a very personal place, bits of junk rather than art scattered on the expensive chests of drawers. Harry knew without having to ask that Draco had entertained elsewhere, this had been his private place, and it was the junk he was after. The supposition proved correct as Draco walked over to the dresser and picked up a battered box that was sat there. Harry watched, as, reverently, Draco opened it and out flew a glittering snitch.

"From the last game I ever played," Draco told Harry, grabbing the fluttering object as it made a bid for freedom. "Ravenclaw versus Slytherin."

"You stole the snitch?" Harry was incredulous, and a little jealous: he had wanted to do the same thing on his last game, but he had not been sneaky enough to work out how to do so without getting caught.

Draco laughed, and Harry enjoyed the sound of happiness.

"I only just got to it before the Ravenclaw seeker," his lover told them. "There were a lot of we seekers leaving that year."

Draco put the ball back in the box and then headed to another 'blocked up' archway. This time there was no password, he just walked through the aesthetic barrier. When Ron and Harry followed, he knew exactly where they were: Snape's storeroom. Now, however, it was no longer lined with dank shelves, it felt dry and the light was bright, and an attempt at recreating daylight. New shelves and rails lined the walls and every single surface was covered in clothing.

"Snape's not going to pleased you turned his storeroom into a walk in wardrobe," Harry chuckled.

"And this was all my fault," Draco grinned back.

He walked over and pulled an expensive suit off a rail, holding it out. It was, of course, black and long line.

"I think most of these should be sold for charity. Given the celebrity associated, they should go well in an auction," Draco decided.

"As long as they like black," Ron observed.

Draco smiled at that and revealed, "I rebelled where I could. Lucius wanted me in all sorts of colours, but I told him I was in mourning. I think that's over now. I've missed green and silver most."

Harry just watched as Draco put the suit back and then grabbed a bag similar to that already over his lover's shoulder. He then turned his back and prepared to walk out.

"You better take some of it, or you'll have nothing to wear," Ron warned, the necessary thrift of his childhood coming through.

"On the contrary, I have already spoken to Jason," Draco quipped back, disappearing through the archway once more, but his voice continued, "I have a few commissions for him."

"And just how are you going to pay for it, you're not the Dark Prince anymore?" Ron's frugal side was clearly reacting to such waste and Harry was more or less in favour of the objection.

Draco was facing the pair of friends when they came out of the wardrobe, hands on hips, and Harry wondered if the shields had come back up. Yet, shortly, his lover smiled and explained, "Now Lucius is dead, the Malfoy fortune passes directly to me with provision for my mother during her lifetime. Gringotts have very good records, and I have asked them to separate out what was once the family fortune from the plunder Lucius gathered. We will be a pure line again."

"You were never pure," Ron quipped back, but it was not cruelly meant, and Draco did not take it as such, instead raising an eyebrow.

That, of course, was not the extent of the retaliation; Harry's suspicions kicked in when he felt a tug of magic, but the first Ron, knew about it was when a cushion thumped him in the back. Ron grunted and went sprawling forward and a chaise-longue slid deftly in place to catch him on its stuffed seat. He landed over it, and, as Draco had intended, the furniture stopped in a position that left Ron practically prostrate in front of him. Harry laughed, for once able to marvel at Slytherin ingenuity without being disloyal.

"Very funny, Malfoy," Ron complained, picking himself up as quickly as possible: friends or not, Gryffindors did not kneel to Slytherins.

His best friend gave Harry a disgusted look for laughing, but he was unrepentant and just grinned.

"Purebloods," he teased both of his friends, shaking his head at the rivalry he was witnessing.

"Is he belittling our age old feud?" Draco addressed Ron, a playful indignance in his manner as he came to stand shoulder to shoulder with him.

"Why yes, I do believe he is," Ron returned, crossing his arms and providing a mock frown that just made Harry's smirk wider.

"And wizards with an overly developed sense of their own importance," Draco began, making Harry scoff at the pot calling the kettle black, "should not be doing things like that."

It was rather like watching a pair of comedians lining up a gag, but Harry knew that the punchline was going to be aimed at him, and he wasn't sure where the new allies were headed. Cautiously, he took a step backwards as both of them drew their wands, but couldn't resist the goad, "Oh and you two don't have an overly developed sense of history or anything then?"

Ron and Draco looked at each other, mischief clearly on their minds, and Harry took another step back. That became another two, one for each draw of wand that happened in front of him, and he raised his hands out and countered, "No fair, two on one and I don't even have a wand."

"Well, it isn't our fault if you are that careless," Draco taunted back, his grin anything but reassuring.

Harry took one more step backwards and it was his undoing. He had been more or less aware that he was backing towards the bed, but he had not realised how close he had come. The back of his knee contacted with the end of the mattress at just the wrong angle and he went sailing backwards on to it.

"Bugger," he swore as he fell, but not too seriously, it was going to be a soft landing.

Yet the landing was anything but what he expected. The mattress did indeed supply a cushion to his fall, however, as his back hit it, ropes flew out from either side of the bed and wrapped themselves around his arms and his legs, drawing tight and pulling him all the way onto the mattress. He struggled as the cords dug into his body and strained his muscles, but they were too strong. Even a complaint that came out of his mouth was latterly hampered as another enchanted binding shot out and across the bed, fixing tight across his mouth and at the same time forcing his head still.

The panic welled up in Harry very quickly, especially since Draco did not look like he had expected any such effect either. His lover and his best friend moved rapidly towards him. However, before they reached the bed, the soft pht's of things being released into the air alerted at least Harry's instincts if not his brain to something more threatening than ropes. His magic reacted and made Harry's stomach turn with its urgency, but the nausea was worth it, because four darts hovered in the air just above his chest. Harry started to breath hard, his heart pounding and his magic coursing through his system. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but he prayed that he could keep doing it; the darts were small, but their pale shafts presented darkened ends, and his imagination did not need to make any leaps to guess that they were poisoned.

"Great sweep our side did!" Ron complained, his wand aimed at the bed, but a look of consternation on his face.

"I think this one was just for me," Draco observed, moving around to the side of the bed and looking a lot calmer than either of the Gryffindors.

Harry would liked to have pointed out that he wasn't Draco both to his lover and the trap that held him, but all that came out was a muffled complaint and the darts wobbled dangerously in their temporary pause as his concentration wavered, so Harry froze and centred back on the spines inches from his chest. As if to back up Draco's theory, the trap grew even more unpleasant when a figure shimmered into view at the end of the bed: it was Voldemort, or at least an iridescent image of him through which Ron poked his wand. A sinking feeling in his heart, Harry had to listen as the form began to speak, "Draco, I am afraid a time has come when my investment in you is outweighed by the risk that you may be used against me. This castle had been breached and our defences enabled, thus, you must die. I am reliably informed that the poison is a quick and painless death."

The tone was almost chatty, and Harry did not want to believe what he was hearing, but it made chilling sense.

"I apologise for the indignity of the restraints, but I do not underestimate the considerable defences you have at your disposal, even behind the bindrunes. Indeed, if you are still listening to this, my supposition was correct. However, do not hope for rescue, this trap will have been executed long before any is possible, and I can assure you, your stamina will fail before my magic. Allow yourself to die, Draco."

Harry had no intention of allowing himself to die, and as Voldemort disappeared, he concentrated harder on the spines, trying to find something in his magic to send them away. They wobbled, but shifted a little closer.

"Stay very still, Harry-Love," Draco ordered quickly, "and don't try anything."

The tone was patronising 'Mother-knows-best', but Harry decided to take the advice. Ron and Draco were now either side of the bed, wands aimed at the spines and eying the darts closely. He could feel his own magic as acutely as he had when facing Lucius, it was raging through him like a separate entity, taking control of his body, defending him from a base level that his higher brain did not recognise. The sense of power was intoxicating, but overwhelming, and all else faded, even fear, as Harry focused on the four projectiles threatening his life.

It could have been hours or minutes or seconds, Harry's senses did not follow time, but suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, and as the ropes on one side of him convulsed and loosened under attack from Draco's wand, Ron dragged Harry sideways. His concentration evaporated, but as his magic in turn failed, the darts thudded into the mattress where he had been. Harry ended up on the floor beside the bed, still tangled in half of the ropes and trembling more with the after effects of his own magic than any emotion. Ron was kneeling next to him, hand still on his shoulder, but he was silent, it was Draco who crashed to his knees on the other side of him and asked urgently, "Harry, Harry-Love?"

Harry blinked at him, brain beginning to function normally again, and the worried looks from his companions dragged from him, "Thanks."

A coherent response seemed to calm Ron, but Draco was not so easy to convince. He had clearly felt the mind-wiping power which had saved Harry's life, and Harry reached out to that concern.

"I'm alright," he assured, rubbing his hand down his lover's arm.

"It thought you were me," Draco almost sounded like he was confessing some crime.

"Must have reacted to the magic," Harry soothed, feeling calm after the storm, even if he was still shivering from it.

"Doesn't matter who it was signed to," Ron entered the conversation and showed his temper, "those twits should have detected the spells around the bed and disarmed them. Basic sweep training."

"They clearly need some proper guidance. I think it's time we went to volunteer," Draco agreed.


	73. The Whims of Victory

It took Draco only a few minutes to gather up the things he wanted, mostly personal items like books and pictures. During the gathering process, Draco had put Ron in charge of keeping Harry out of trouble, which was mortifying, but Harry had submitted to the worry in his lover and hoped to get out of the dungeon quickly. Even after they headed up the stairs, Harry found himself flanked first front and back and then when they came up into the entrance hall, right and left by his companions. From there, the trio headed to the Great Hall, from where they assumed the coordination was being done.

Ron and Draco hadn't stopped muttering about inept Aurors all the way, but Harry was staying out it, keeping silent and going over the closeness he had felt with him magic. He was still running it through his mind when he walked into the Great Hall, and a tug of those instincts made him look up and to his right. He came to a smart halt, thus forcing his protective companions to also stop, and he let his jaw drop in shock as he saw a large plaque on the wall that had definitely not been there the last time he had been present.

The stone carving was about twelve feet wide by eight or so feet high with scrolled edges. However, it was the contents that made Harry stride over to it for a better view, rubbing his eyes like he would have done his glasses if he'd still been wearing them. The thing that had caught his attention was a picture carved in relief on the right of the panel: it was unmistakably he and Draco caught in a moment that had only been witnessed by them. Harry was lying limp in his lover's arms, naked, dead, the hole in his chest from the stab wound clearly visible. Draco was kneeling, cradling him, his back to viewer, but his face in profile and the anguish in his features was undeniable. The image sent a chill right through Harry with its stark honesty, but defences against the difficult scene made him angry and he glanced at Draco, who looked back at him, a similar emotion on his face.

"I forgot you two hadn't seen this," Ron informed them casually, the fact that he was still looking up at it in a captivated kind of way making him oblivious to his companion's reaction to the carving. "It just appeared after all that poem in the sky stuff."

At that point, Harry found his eyes being drawn back to the plaque, and he noted that words to the left of the image were indeed that same poem, but his anger dragged him away once more and he accused of Ron, "I'm dead, and naked on the wall!"

Ron did not seem to understand his anger, and he just shrugged as Harry fumed and observed, "But you can't see anything embarrassing, Draco's in the way."

"Crying," Draco added, pointing repeatedly and sounding just as annoyed as Harry.

"It's poignant," Ron returned with another shrug, sounding like he was quoting his wife.

Harry looked back at Draco, despairing of the fact that his best friend had suddenly discovered art, and, once again, his feelings were mirrored. In union, the pair turned back to the plaque. Draco waved his wand and cast, "Manifesto!"

A pair of plush velvet curtains appeared either side of the carving and with a wave of hand, Harry closed them. The feelings of privacy invasion and anger dimmed immediately. However, they lasted as long as it took the curtains to spontaneously combust. Harry and Draco took rapid steps back, and there were shrieks from around the room as the cloth burst into flame. With a depressing feeling of inevitability, Harry watched the curtains burn and disappear in front of his eyes.

"I do believe," a familiar voice made all three young men turn, and Albus was stood in front of the gathered company of their friends, smiling serenely as he finished, "that Hogwarts wishes that plaque to be seen, and I have found in my dealings with this building, that there is no manner of magic that may combat such a wish."

Harry hrmphed, but didn't say anything, knowing deep down that his mentor was correct.

"Is that any face to greet us with?" Molly pushed through the group and immediately went to her boys.

Ron was given a cursory glance, and a disapproving frown and tut at his bandaged arm, but then, with a glance up at the plaque and back to him, Molly then wrapped Harry in an urgent hug.

"No more dying," she chided.

"No, Mum," Harry returned simply, wrapping the woman in his arms and rolling his eyes to the rest of his friends as he patted her back in what he hoped was a sonly comforting type of way.

Everybody else just grinned at him, including Ron, who didn't seem to mind playing second fiddle.

"You all look better than when we had to leave you with Poppy," Remus observed easily, which seemed to comfort Molly, and she stepped back.

"Harry was less trouble in the coma," Ron complained, wrapping his working arm around Harry's shoulders none-the-less.

"Ron Weasley!" Molly chided instantly

"Well you try stopping him walking into trouble then," Ron challenged, and Harry found himself pushed towards Molly.

"I can take care of myself," he objected, stepping sideways out of the push and towards Draco.

However, if he had wanted support, his lover gave him none, and sided with Ron, "So falling into traps was part of you taking care of yourself then?"

"If you two hadn't wanted to use me as target practice I wouldn't have fallen in the first place," Harry countered.

"I think it's a good job we came back when we did," Hermione decided as she walked over and kissed her husband.

There was a general consensus from the rest of the group, but of course, Hermione was no longer listening as Ron pulled her in close. Harry found a hand in his at the sign of affection from elsewhere, and Draco stood close. He was still feeling the loss of the smooch earlier that morning, but with so many unknown people in the room, looking at them thanks to the fire, the clutch was all he allowed himself.

"Shall we go outside?" he asked, feeling the attention.

"An excellent idea," Albus nodded.

"It is a crisp, but pleasant day," Minerva added.

"The twins are with the twins by the lake, we can join them," Molly agreed, and rather made a tangle of Harry's thoughts as he tried to work that one out.

* * *

The Autumn sunshine was refreshing after the dungeons, and Harry strolled beside his friends just listening to the conversation that ensued, there being plenty of others to carry a subject.

"So what was it like handing the country back over to Fudge and his lot?" Ron asked of Remus enthusiastically.

"That toad almost refused to shake Remus' hand," Tonks leapt in before the more thoughtful man could answer, "but Bones made him, she gave this big speech about breaking down barriers and triumphing despite afflictions."

"Then she took over her department from that weed, What's-his-name, and started putting it back the way it should be. I think she's going to be the next Minister," Hermione suggested.

Harry smiled to himself: Amelia would make an excellent Minister of Magic and he decided there and then to promote such an idea. However, he didn't voice his decision, it could wait. Draco was silent as well, and he was watching the discussion closely, and the focus in his lover's eyes caught Harry's blithe attention. Draco was more than watching, he was observing and calculating, Harry could see the thoughts behind those ice eyes even if he couldn't interpret them. Harry found himself thinking that the animation of calculation was rather attractive. All the evidence thus far made Harry suspect that Draco never entered any interaction without some plan, or at least idea of the elements within it.

Harry was rather lost in watching his lover, and so the journey to the lake proceeded without him. His absence lasted until a small child collided with one of his legs and one of Draco's, wrapped them so tightly they couldn't walk anymore and greeted excitedly, "Uncle Harry, Draco!"

It was Aithne (for some reason, Harry had no trouble telling the girls apart, although their twin uncles were still, and would ever be a confusion to him), who had decided not to pick a favourite from the runners up when Imogen had reached her father first. Ron had dropped to his knees and was hugging his daughter with his good arm, so Harry and Draco did the same and were given sloppy kisses by their half of the pair of sisters.

"So how are the walking wounded?" Trudy greeted, leaving her husband's side to come and extract small child from grown men.

"Glad to be out of that ward, thanks," Harry responded, standing and giving one of his newest friends a peck on the cheek.

"I hope you were not causing Poppy any trouble," Minerva entered the obligatory caution into the conversation, although she was smiling when Harry glanced at her.

"Never, now would we?" Draco sent the woman his best innocent look, which gained him a frown of disapproval in return.

Ron laughed at the interaction, and after greeting his other sister-in-law, added, "Not if you don't count nearly destroying my chess set, or slicing holes in furniture when snogging in secret."

Harry felt his cheeks grow hot at that last quip, but Draco was appropriately defiant for both of them as he returned, "You'd rather we'd have done it in public?"

Ron went red as well, which served to encourage his brothers.

"Never had you pegged as a voyeur, Little Brother," Fred, or George began.

"Or you as an exhibitionist, Little Brother too," the other twin aimed the tease in two directions.

"Boys, we have children present!" Molly rescued before the exchange could grow any more risqué.

From the grins on Fred and George's faces, Harry had no doubt they were filing away that little piece of ammunition, and that he no longer had the immunity of a family friend to protect him from ruthless embarrassment.

"Help me lay out the rug," Molly employed her sons in a more worthwhile activity than baiting each other.

Ron was shooed away, and then Fred, George, Harry and Draco were handed a corner each of a rug that had been drawn, neatly folded from a hamper which Leona had passed to her mother-in-law. Molly then waved the four young men away from each other, and the cloth unfolded and then began to expand from an averagely sized blanket to apparently as wide as Molly wanted it. When they had created something at least ten feet square, Molly called a halt, and they laid the rug on the ground. The homemaker walked straight to the centre of the blanket, laid down the hamper and immediately began delving into it in a way that said there were treasures inside.

"Elevensies," she announced to the gathered company and patted the blanket.

Harry wasn't about to turn down food, especially as he laid eyes on the sandwiches and biscuits that were appearing from the hamper. Albus and Minerva made themselves a couple of eccentric picnic chairs and placed them at the very edge of the rug, but everyone else found places on the blanket itself. Harry settled comfortably next to Draco, and the other couples followed in arranging themselves next to each other, to the point where Ginny was sat in Dean's lap, which drew a glance from her mother. However, the pair could not have looked happier, or more oblivious to both Molly's disapproval, and Seamus, whom Harry assumed was put out merely because he did not have a girlfriend to sit in his lap as well. Tonks plonked herself unceremoniously on the ground right next to Remus, who had been holding out a hand to help her down to his level.

Severus Snape clearly did not do picnics, and he stood at the edge of the blanket eying the proceedings with suspicion. Harry would have been happy for him to stay that way, a black statue with maybe a spout of water coming out of the end of his wand for effect. However, Draco was unaware of Harry's fantasies, and brought them to ruin when he waved Severus down from his lofty heights into a kneeling position on the smallest corner of blanket, which did not look at all comfortable. Harry did his best to ignore the dour man by accepting a cup of tea passed to him and actually restarting the conversation with, "So, what's the mood like in general."

"Depends if you're a death eater or not," Bill answered with a wink, and then munched into a cream cake.

"A lot like the last time Voldemort was defeated," Remus replied more usefully, a nostalgic smile on his face, "only this time I don't have to mourn as well."

The comment took Harry by surprise and it took him a moment to realise that his friend was referring to his parents. Then he didn't quite know what to feel. Voldemort had almost wiped out the Potter wizards, causing Harry as child and man incalculable pain in the process. Now he was gone, for good this time, but some of the pain remained and would always remain.

"To old victories and new," Remus raised his teacup in salute, "may they always be as sweet as this one."

"Hear, hear!" Charlie agreed loudly, along with several of his brothers.

Harry raised his cup, but did not say anything; instead, he shared a look and a thought for the fallen Marauders with the last of their number.

"Y'know, Fudge is already talking about an award ceremony and celebration, in the next couple of days," Ginny announced.

"Already?" Draco questioned incredulously.

"Yes, he says it'll be good for morale, give the people of Britain a positive sign that the previous era is over," the young woman returned, and frowned like she was trying to remember the quote.

"Try and make people focus on something other than his incompetence, you mean," Harry didn't manage to stop the snarl in his tone at the mention of his new best enemy.

"That too," Ginny agreed, taking the snark easily and patting his arm.

"Orders of Merlin, first, second and third class are going to be flying around like doxies," Tonks continued.

Harry was sure his friend's eyes then grew in size, like a cartoon puppy, and she clasped her hands to her chest, and asked in the breathiest voice Harry had ever heard, "Me?" She then proceeded to wave her hand in front of her face, gasp a few times and then collapsed backwards into Remus' lap in a mock faint. Everyone laughed, and there was even some applause at the horrendous overacting. Remus was blushing a little as he gallantly revived his 'damsel' and helped her sit up again: Harry wasn't sure whether Tonks noted that or not.

"You two'll get first class," Ron announced confidently and waved at Harry and Draco.

"Not if Fudge is giving them out, I won't," Harry quipped back, the image of the simpering idiot handing him an award making him feel sick.

"Come on, Mate, it's not him who decides who gets what," Ron soothed the anger that was beginning to rise in Harry.

"Don't care," Harry returned smartly, not sure if he could stop from yelling as he continued, "I'm not going anywhere near that pompous little tyrant."

"We understand your apprehension, My Boy," Albus began calmly.

In Harry's opinion, if his mentor was saying such a thing then he clearly did not understand, and the attempt at coddling him just annoyed Harry further.

"It's not apprehension," he growled, "I might just do something he'll regret."

"Alright," Draco leapt into the conversation, pulling Harry in close to him as he did so, "shall we change the subject? I for one don't want to spoil this lovely morning with an argument."

It wasn't so much the vocal objection but the way Draco's chest felt against his back that shut Harry up. He knew that was how Draco had designed things: he was easy to manipulate, but Fudge was not worth spoiling the closeness, so Harry relaxed and let his temper fade. Hermione was grinning, not at him, but over his shoulder at Draco, and he would have made comment about the moment that was being shared between the two more manipulating halves of the represented relationships, however, Aithne landed in his lap and distracted him by almost shoving a scone into his mouth.

* * *

Elevensies continued with sunny day conversation, nothing too heavy, just some sharing of stories about grateful Britons who had thanked their liberators in ways ranging from hugs to full-scale welcome galas. However, Albus interrupted those thoughts and brought everyone back to the present. The old wizard had merely sat and watched like a reverent old owl since the elvensies had begun: that changed as he observed evenly, "This country is healing itself in remarkably quick time. It is my fervent hope that the same may be said for Hogwarts. Our young need a chance to refocus themselves from the dark times that are receding, and I have petitioned the Ministry to allow us to open the school in time for the Spring term."

Harry's heart leapt, and he looked up at the gnarled old walls, welcoming the return of good. The windows were haunted with the leftover darkness of its former occupiers, and maybe by too many modern associations Harry held with the place, but Albus had seeded a hope in his chest that those shadows would disappear.

"Good news," he decided earnestly, still gazing up at the grey stone.

A funny silence followed, which made his ears itch, and when he dropped his attention back to earth, everyone was looking at him. He was very glad for Draco's closeness then, not quite sure about being a focal point, albeit one at whom nothing but smiles were being directed.

"Couldn't have put it better myself, Mate," Ron backed him up almost immediately.

"I'm going to be very glad to come back here," Hermione agreed, a contented smile on her face as she snuggled one of her daughters.

That confused Harry a moment, even more so because his best friend was sat next to Hermione and looked like he was about to burst with pride. Ron had been excited about something the previous day after fire speaking with Hermione in Poppy's office, but he had not elaborated. That same excited look was back in his eyes now and Draco was the one to make the connection with, "You're going to be teaching here?"

Hermione nodded and Ron gabbled quickly, "Professor Vector is busy doing her research, and although she wants to come back here, she doesn't want a full time position, and since Hermione only wants part time until the twins are older, she's going to be teaching Arithmancy."

Harry performed a mock wince and offered, "Rather you than me," but then grinned widely and continued, "More good news, you'll be great, Hermione."

"Thanks," the young woman blushed with the strange, but honest modesty she always brought with her.

"Hermione will not be our only new teacher," Minerva added, smiling as enigmatically as Albus as she surveyed the gathered company from beside him. "Professor Flitwick has regretfully declined our invitation to return to Hogwarts, remaining in retirement, and, as always, we have no Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Aren't you finally going to give that to Severus?" Draco asked, and all attention turned to the stonily silent man, who looked oddly outnumbered between the gang of Weasleys and Tonks.

Severus looked across at Albus, who was gazing steadily back, and hostility passed from younger to older, but whatever was in the moment remained unsaid as Severus regarded Draco, making Harry feel like he might not exist, and answered, "I am content to take up my old position as Potions' Professor: it will indeed be good to return to Hogwarts."

Harry was very happy to be ignored by the cool man, and he started when, very suddenly, he was his centre of attention. Whatever had made Severus hostile to Albus, it was also in the hawkish gaze that pinned Harry's back to Draco. Harry didn't understand it, but then he had come to accept that there were many dislikes of Severus Snape that ended up with him, and so he just took the stare and the confusion that went with it.

"It will take much hard work from many people to restore the school," Albus interrupted the moment.

Harry relaxed against his lover as Severus finally looked away back to the main conversation.

"And we can start now," Draco returned. "Those so called Aurors in there are not very fast or very good at sweeping the place. We could give them a hand."

"Too right," Ron agreed and began to uncurl off the blanket to his full height.

When Draco also moved, Harry rolled forward onto his own weight and also stood. Everyone except Molly, who began collecting up items and placing them back in her amazing basket, had climbed to their feet by the time Harry got there as well, and he was the centre of attention again.

"Where do you think you're going?" Draco asked him, a smile on his face, but some seriousness in his eyes.

"Same place you are," Harry returned, his hackles twitching at the condescension in his lover's tone.

"Oh no you're not," Ron wagged his finger and put himself between Harry and the castle.

Harry would have objected then, loudly, but Draco and Ron tag teamed him again and Draco stepped in with, "You think after earlier we're letting you anywhere near the sweep?"

Harry opened his mouth again, but was interrupted by Ron who patted his shoulder and offered, "We like you in one piece, Mate."

"I can look after myself," Harry stammered for the second time that day, feeling his face heat up.

"Until you settle in to your magic, it's not safe," Draco countered calmly and logically.

"This magic has saved my life, twice, I'm probably safer than the lot of you," Harry snarled back, his hackles bristling now.

"Yes, Harry-Love," Draco sounded like he was half trying to soothe and half enjoying baiting Harry

Harry resisted the touch that came to rest on his shoulders, but Draco persisted, and hands urged him to turn around. As he gave in and turned, Harry's heart sank as his argument went up in puffs of purple smoke, which were coming from Molly's picnic teapot. The thankfully hardy item was dancing erratically in the air throwing out puffs of smoke and sparks from its spout. However, as the sight doused Harry's anger and objections into defeat, the pot sank slowly down to ground.

"But the rest of us need to be safe from you, Harry-Love," Draco told him, softly, but firmly and kissed him on the ear.

Harry's spirits sank with the pot, but no-one else seemed to register his dismay. In fact, Molly picked up the teapot as if it had been sitting on the rug all the time, packed it away and cajoled, "Never mind, Darling, you and I can take the twins to Hogsmeade."

"Yes, Potter, you baby sit the children," Severus clearly couldn't resist the easy opportunity to bait Harry.

However, Harry's own worry about his random interactions with magic meant that he was in no mood to rise to the taunt. In fact, Severus was faced with a bunch of protective Weasleys, and, for a moment, Harry thought he saw actual nerves on Snape's face. However, it could have been wishful thinking, and Remus defused the standoff before he could really tell with, "Come on, sooner we get this done, the sooner we have places to sleep tonight."

That comment galvanised everyone, and with another peck on the cheek from Draco, Harry was left staring after his friends feeling completely left out. It was a very childish feeling, but that didn't stop it being upsetting, especially since Severus had rubbed it in.

"Your magic won't take long to settle down, Love," Molly assured him, speaking with a mother's authority on something she could not possibly know much about: it helped take the edge off Severus' rebuff.


	74. Familiar Places

The trip to Hogsmeade had been distracting, mainly because Aithne and Imogen proved that they could be a complete handful. 'Uncle Harry' was actually quite tired by the time he followed 'Grandma' back into Hogwarts' entrance hall, carrying Imogen and with Aithne hanging off his arm and dancing around his feet. Imogen was nearly asleep, but her sister had enough energy for both of them and Harry was wondering if his arm was going to come out of its socket. However, the children had never been inside the impressive castle, and Harry recalled his own wonder at the place on his first visit as he heard both girls gasp. Aithne stopped pulling on his arm and stood still beside him as Harry took the opportunity to recover, and Imogen's head came up off his shoulder. He put his burden down to be with her sister, and they took firm hold of each other's hands and stared up at the cavernous room.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Girls," he told them, and found himself whispering in tune with their awe.

"Big," Aithne delivered the twins' opinion on the place, and drew a smile from Molly as well as Harry.

The hall was now empty, no Aurors with clipboards, no sweepers with wands, just reverent silence, and Harry was glad: Hogwarts, or at least its entrance hall, was at peace and he listened to the silence for a few moments, enjoying it after the rush of the afternoon. The sun was setting behind them, and golden light bathed the room. If he had been alone, it would have been a time for reflection for Harry, but as it was, awe did not last long in toddlers, and with a look at her sister that conveyed everything she wanted to say, Aithne then scampered out into the open space in front of her, Imogen in tow.

"Be careful, Girls," Molly warned immediately, and the parental tone brought Harry back down to earth. "You look tired," Molly observed when he glanced at her.

"Good tired, Mum," Harry returned as the woman reached out and pushed his fringe out of his face.

Molly frowned at that, which confused Harry a moment, but she did not make comment, so he was left none the wiser as to her reasoning. Instead, the moment was interrupted by a whistle and the second pair of Weasley twins came bounding down the stairs from the first floor and swept their giggling nieces into their arms.

"Thought you'd be back soon," they said together. "With a little help from the experts, we made it to the first floor, and the guest wing is all swept as well, so we can sleep in comfort tonight."

"You count yourselves as experts, do you?" Draco's voice made Harry smile, not least because he was going in for a little Weasley baiting, and Fred and George were perfect targets.

"Well, if it hadn't been for us," one of the pair turned back towards the stairs and looked up at Draco, Ron and Hermione, who were all following at a more sedate pace, "you'd have been demon bait."

Harry had to blink a couple of times before he could take in the mess before him. The normally pristine Malfoy was covered in everything from cobwebs to soot by the look of him, but he had a childish grin plastered all over his face and the lightening in his eyes was sparking quickly with his excitement.

"If it hadn't been for you two, I wouldn't have been in the way of that demon in the first place," Draco teased back, shaking his pale head so that bits of plaster fell out of his hair.

"He's right about that," one twin said to the other, and his brother nodded back, and then they shrugged at Draco, who just laughed.

"They booby trapped somewhere with a demon?" Molly decided to be the voice of reason in what appeared to blithe indifference to the danger that was being discussed.

"It was only a little one, Mum," Ron soothed, patting her shoulder with his good hand.

"It blew out a wall before we managed to banish it, though," Hermione admitted, retrieving Imogen from her Uncle; the child immediately laid her head on her mother's shoulder and closed her eyes.

The effect of a sleepy child on Draco was quite remarkable, as far as Harry was concerned; his lover smiled at the domestic scene, his stance softened and his voice joined it as he suggested, "Let's discuss war stories later. For now, it looks like someone needs to be put to bed, and I for one need to clean up."

Hermione nodded silently, stroking her daughter's hair lovingly. Aithne, seeing the attention gained by her sister, wriggled out of her uncle's hold and went to her father. Ron knelt down to her and apologised, "Sorry, Sweetie, Daddy can't pick you up with his bad arm."

It wasn't a surprise to anyone, except the older twins, who had not been around Hogwarts Tutus, when the child turned then to her snowman. Despite the fact that he was covered in dirt, no-one objected when Draco lifted Aithne and she curled into the dust on his shoulder. Content in a way he hadn't been for a long time, Harry fell in beside his lover as the group turned and headed back up the stairs.

* * *

Harry wasn't certain who had made the decision that the returning order members would be staying in the guest wing of Hogwarts while they remained at the castle, or when it had been made; he only knew that it had been made without him, but that he really didn't care where he slept that night as long as it was with Draco. He wasn't taking much notice of his surroundings, being more interested in the man beside whom he was standing, and the thoughts of what he wanted to do to him once they were finally alone.

The group had said goodbye to the older Weasley twins, who had been greeted by their respective wives at adjacent doors, and Molly, who had joined Arthur, and Aithne was all the way asleep by the time Draco handed her over to her mother at the door their little family was calling home for the next couple of days. Harry wasn't sure where they were by then: all the distasteful pictures had been removed during the sweep, which is how his limited navigation had worked last time he had been in this wing, and he had been so intent on working out the fastest way to get Draco out of his clothes that he was not even sure what floor they were on. He did just about manage to say a quiet goodbye, and there were rumblings about dinner in the Great Hall that evening, but Harry lost interest in anything other than his starved libido before that conversation finished.

As far as Harry's sexual appetites were concerned, it had to have been weeks not days since he had last been able to access his partner privately and freely, and he was hard just thinking about it. That fact, although hidden from the group by hastily positioned clothing, was clearly obvious to Draco as they turned away from the closing door. His lover didn't need to look down, Draco was looking in Harry's eyes and he observed immediately, "Getting impatient?"

"Only since about six a.m. this morning," Harry replied and pulled Draco into an embrace.

The corridor wasn't exactly private: there were more people staying in the newly cleared rooms than just their friends, but Harry was too hungry to care who saw them. Draco felt ravenous as well, reaching back and stroking down over Harry's jumper. However, the touch was over clothing, and the kiss a little inhibited by the location, so, starvation averted, the pair broke their embrace.

"Our room's this way," Draco waved his hand ahead, but Harry followed him with his attention firmly on sculpted arse.

* * *

Harry had his hand as well as his eyes on Draco's arse by the time they reached whichever door his lover had chosen for them, and when Draco turned unexpectedly as he opened the door, the couple almost fell through as Harry's expectations had the better of him. However, the second kiss he began stopped halfway to its goal, and his jaw went slack as he saw the room that opened up in front of him. The décor hadn't changed; purple and black still lined every surface in indulgent luxury and a strange mixture of old nerves and new passions made Harry smile as he recognised the retreat Draco had made for him.

This was a lavish chamber, much bigger than the ones of which Harry had caught glances on their journey here, and he voiced his wonder at Draco's ingenuity as he asked, "How did you wangle this one?"

"No-one is saying no to one of the Saviours of Britain," Draco grinned, but then continued in a way which told Harry it was for the benefit of his conscience, not Draco's, "but it's only for tonight. We move to humbler quarters tomorrow."

Harry kicked off his shoes on impulse, just to feel the plush carpet under his feet again, and he walked over to the bed. Playing idly with the corner of the bag he had left with a house elf that morning, he turned and told his lover earnestly, "Thank you."

The look in Draco's eyes at the moment made Harry wonder if he was going to cry, but there were no tears, just intense emotion, with which Draco advanced on him. Harry let himself be pinned to the post on the near side of the bed and succumbed to the embrace far more easily than he had in the corridor. He opened his mouth as tongue brushed his lips and jets of delight ran through him where the touch claimed him. Draco was pressed so close to him clothing hardly mattered, and Harry concentrated on the kiss ,running his fingers into his lover's hair to angle his head the way he wanted.

His pulse racing and his body beginning to throb with his desire, Harry drew in a deep breath. However, the pull of air brought with it irritants dislodged from Draco's mane of hair, and Harry just about managed to push his lover away before he sneezed violently. The sneeze broke the moment in such an absurd manner that Harry glanced over at the surprised look on Draco's face and chuckled.

"Clean then sex?" Draco asked lightly, looking down at his dusty appearance.

"Clean and sex," Harry corrected, which made Draco smile in a totally intoxicating manner.

* * *

The bathroom was much as Harry remembered, only his brain told him there was something different about the bath, but he couldn't work out what. It was still as long and deep as it had been when he'd last seen it, but something didn't look right. The thought distracted his lust-soaked brain for a second, but then a body came up behind him, arms came around him, hands stroking his torso and Harry really didn't care about the difference anymore, even when Draco told him, "I remodelled the taps, don't want one of us to have to sit on the plug."

The words could have been the best come on since Merlin himself wooed Nimue as far as Harry was concerned, because his libido responded strongly. Draco was hot and horny and Harry rubbed back against him, drawing out a murmur which turned into a kiss laid on his neck. Harry was in heaven and he was at last free of his inhibitions to do as he wished. He didn't intend to turn on the taps that Draco had just mentioned, but that is what happened as mind and magic headed, for once, in the same direction. An added bonus came as his magic moved, because his lover felt it and responded in kind. It was only a small matter, the plug settled into place in the pan of the bath and a small bottle of bath oil tipped onto its side and emptied its contents into the water, but it wasn't what the magic was doing that mattered. Both young wizards vocalised the pleasure that came as their magics ran in tune, harmonising a lustful song. The feeling of togetherness came from deep inside Harry, but it reached all the way out to every pore of his body. He had never known he was missing something in the way he sensed Draco's power, but now the sense was complete as his own gifts responded and it was the most glorious sensation he had ever experienced.

The magic settled once more, its job done, but still Harry could feel strands of Draco's being playing around his, like fingers stroking a new part of his body. He turned in his lover's hold and reinitiated the kiss of earlier, dust or no dust.

The embrace was long and emphatic, in Harry's mind a reaffirmation of their bond which had been forged through adversity and pain. He pushed down Draco's trousers, just a little way, enough so he could run his fingers over the visible statement of that bond. He could not feel it on the surface of Draco's skin, and neither did he break the kiss to look down, but he knew his fingers were running over the right spot as the instincts that had made the lion's mark flared in response. Draco pushed against his touch, a moan through the kiss telling Harry that it was being enjoyed and suddenly his need for his partner boiled over.

Draco's shirt buttons and his flies undid in one burst of magic and as soon as the cloth was released, Harry began pushing it away off his lover's body. Draco quickly shifted to help, shrugging the shirt off his shoulders and kicking off his shoes so that by the time his trousers descended, he could step out of them. Draco, as he preferred, was not wearing underwear, and thus he stood naked in front of Harry in seconds. Draco stood back a few paces, displaying himself, proud and powerful, and Harry looked, his heart beat increasing and his body pulsing with every cast of his gaze.

With a smile that invited Harry in, but at the same time with a look that kept him at anticipatory bay, Draco stepped into the bath. The water was almost to the lip, having gone ignored, and, leaning back against the tiles on the far side of the tub and keeping Harry locked to his stare, Draco reached down and turned off the taps manually. Harry was barely breathing when Draco finally released his gaze by turning himself to profile and sinking into the water, all the way under and then back out again, his blond mane clean and slicked back against his head. The oil left a sheen on the water, but it was as clear as crystal and the sight of his lover languid in the liquid removed any restraint Harry had left. He pulled off his own clothing as fast as possible and climbed into the bath, sinking rapidly to his knees across Draco's legs in the steaming water. He leant forward onto all fours, the water lapping against his belly and soaking his erection in heat, and came to a poised halt, his face inches from Draco's.

Draco smiled again, the lightening in his eyes moving in time with the magical pulse that joined the couple, and Harry leant the rest of the way in for another kiss. It was not a good angle for a kiss, Harry's head was pushed back against his spine, but Draco revealed that is was the perfect position for a grope as he reached up under Harry's body and took firm hold of his balls. Harry groaned and broke the kiss as a wave of pleasure convulsed through his body. The water rippled in reaction, maintaining an echo of the sensation and nearly tipping Harry over the edge. Yet Draco's expert fingers pressed against him, stalling the climax and making him groan longer and deeper.

Despite the agony in his libido at the interruption to its response, Harry pushed into the forceful touch that Draco maintained on his body. He splayed his legs as wide as possibly against the sides of the bath, giving access to his lover's hands, and he leant forward, nuzzling the sweet dampness of Draco's hair, to make the reach easier. He was going to come, sooner rather than later, Harry could feel his body tightening around the intense desire and he knew even Draco's ministrations could not prevent it, but he held on as long as he could, indulging the pleasure of the dexterous stroking and the eddies of the water on his dick. Draco stroked the length of him, and with a grunt that became a moan, Harry shuddered and thrust into the tight, welcoming avenue Draco made with his hands.

Harry hung on to the rush as long as he could, letting it settle while cradled in Draco's palms, but as it receded to nothing more than the nice lapping of water on his buttocks, Harry relaxed, and as Draco released him, settled back onto his heels. He glanced down, expecting (with a small amount of chagrin) to have to refresh the bath water already, but the water cleared in front of his eyes, and a vague tingling on his skin, which he had been too engrossed to notice before, told Harry that the bath oil was more than Muggle cleansers. He glanced up at his lover, and Draco was smiling at him.

Draco's hands were still between Harry's legs, stroking thigh rather than scrotum and he stretched into it for a moment, but the lion's mark looked up at him through the iridescent water and urged him to touch once more. He did not hesitate, he took a deep breath and dived down below the water's surface, between Draco's arms and pressed his lips to the symbol of his love. Draco pushed back up against him, the sounds of pleasure muffled by the water, but obvious, none the less. Harry blew some of the air out of his lungs; bubbles scattered all around his face and Draco's response grew exponentially. Taking the hint, Harry shifted slightly and redirected the stream of bubbles at Draco's erection.

Hands grabbed his shoulders and pushed Harry away and the way Draco was gasping when he broke the water's surface once more told Harry that his attention had been a little too much for Draco to take. He grinned at his lover, drawing in much needed air himself, and more than pleased with the way Draco had reacted. Draco kept hold of Harry's shoulders, holding him at arm's length, and Harry did not resist. Much as he had enjoyed reducing his lover to the state in which he was currently, Harry did not want the intercourse to end with both of them spent too soon. His flaccid penis was already beginning to throb once more, but it would be a little while before he could perform, so that just left Draco to play with and Harry felt like drawing things out.

His grin must have said more than he was intending, because when he could focus again, Draco fixed Harry with a Malfoy superior stare and goaded, "Just because you can't control yourself does not mean the rest of us are likewise handicapped."

Harry was in a frisky mood already, but that taunt made him as direct as Draco had been: he took hold of his lover's erection and squeezed just a little. Draco gritted his teeth and tensed, clearly trying not to react, but Harry stroked the hot organ between his fingers, leant forward and paused an inch from Draco's nose, smiling confidently. He wasn't aiming to take his partner all the way, he wanted a surrender, but he maintained the bluff until he forced a moan from the back of Draco's throat. Still Harry maintained the pressure, having learnt his teasing from the expert before him, and it was only when Draco tipped his head back against the bath, let out a groan of disbelief and thrust upwards into his grip that Harry relented.

Draco returned from the edge, his groan growing deeper as he failed to go over it, and as he relaxed against the sides of the bath, Harry finished the distance between them and demanded a kiss. Draco opened his mouth and gave in to the ruthless demonstration, clearly quite enjoying it even if he had lost. He did try to mumble some kind of expletive, but Harry found much better things to do with his lover's tongue.

* * *

Harry was lying up against Draco's body by the time the embrace softened to an easier caress, his partner's still firm erection pressed between them. He nipped and licked Draco's lips a little longer, but then drew back, knowing a cat-with-the-cream smile was all over his face.

"There was supposed to be 'clean' somewhere involved in this activity," Draco lectured him, ignoring both the triumph and the fact that the oil was doing that for them without any work on their part. "Get over to your end of the bath."

Harry wasn't quite sure where Draco was going with this train of thought, but he was almost certain that it was not all petulance. Still grinning, he slowly slid off his lover and draped himself at the other end of the gently sloping tub. Unwilling to let the sexual encounter go altogether, he used the new position to slide his foot up between Draco's legs and pressed gently against what he found. There was no resistance this time, Draco spread his thighs to accommodate the move and murmured his appreciation. Yet he hadn't forgotten 'clean', and after a few moments, he fixed Harry with a lustful look and told him, "The flannel next to you, use it."

This was no instruction to simply wash, and Harry took his time obeying, letting his libido catch up with the heady gaze from Draco. He was being watched, intently, and his body was no longer altogether spent: it responded, and the water cradled a newly forming erection as Harry picked up the black cloth and slowly dipped it in the water. It came back up foaming, and very deliberately, Harry put it flat against his chest and then gradually ran it down over his abs. The movement disappeared quickly below the water line, but that did not stop the view, just distorted it somewhat, and Draco was all eyes, as with a draw of air to steady himself, Harry ran the flannel over his dick. Left-over sensitivity and new arousal mixed in a wonderful cocktail that made him squirm under his own ministrations, and the way Draco was watching him only intensified the lust that soaked up through his body.

There was only so much Harry could take, and he would have removed the flannel if left to his own devices. However, Draco leant forward and placed a hand over his, holding him in place. Draco's other hand slid down between Harry's legs and he lifted himself as they stroked the very lower part of his buttocks. The sensations were exquisite and almost too much at the same time. Yet the gentle teasing went up a level as fingers pressed at Harry's entrance. He only had to push back once and he was entered by one fine digit. Harry reared into the flannel at the unexpected intrusion, sounding his surprise with a shout that swiftly became a moan as his senses failed to know how to handle the wonderful mixture of sensations. Draco moved his finger slowly and stroked with his palm and Harry could do nothing more than tip his head back and sound his pleasure. If this was revenge then Harry decided he would bait Draco more often.

Harry whined a complaint, but his body relaxed gratefully none-the-less when Draco eased and finally withdrew his ministrations. Harry just watched, lying still and drawing his breath lazily through slightly parted lips as Draco took the flannel and applied it to himself: neck, torso, legs, and just once up his cock (his face at that moment said it was all he could manage, and Harry knew his lover was close). He examined Draco's erection as the black cloth cleared it, the deepness of its colour and the way in which Draco flexed his hips reactively as the cotton played on the head. Harry wanted to use the potential he saw there, and when his lover sunk back against the bath wall, iron control all over his face, Harry shifted again. He knelt up and turned around, and, without a word, placed himself over the end of the bath.

The hint was more than enough, and Harry sighed as he felt a palm run up over his buttocks and then water swirled around them as well as Draco too knelt up. The water lapped at his skin, playing around his balls and thighs, just teasing his arse when his lover moved towards him, and Harry shivered as he felt Draco's body come close to his. There was no pause, cock discovered his entrance, and then Harry gasped as he was breached. The oil/water mixture made Draco's cock slick, and Harry was filled before he could fully respond, and his reactions caught up with him as he tensed. Draco dug fingers into his shoulders and drew in long gasps of air, telling Harry how much control he was using; Harry did not want this to be over too soon, so he did his best to steady himself and relax.

The couple held together in stillness for a while, well, at least their bodies were still, but their magic was raging. However easy it was to settle muscles and reactions, Harry could find no such control for his instincts, and neither could Draco, because their power danced through them both. Harry knew there had to be some external reaction, but he had closed his eyes to steady himself, and he was reluctant to open them, not wishing to spoil the moment with random magic. However, his lover told him, "Harry-Love, look."

What Harry saw when he opened his eyes took him back to the first morning he had woken up in Draco's arms. In the uppermost corner of the bathroom was hovering the infinite ball of blue and green light.

"It was always both of us," Draco murmured in his ear as the energy came floating over to them like a timid puppy.

His instincts had known that, but Harry had not, and the wonder of it ran through him all over again. Two powers ran visibly through the light, as they ran invisibly through the lovers, and, as Draco moved involuntarily, stifling a grunt which said he could not hold on much longer, the blue part of the sphere pulsed excitedly. Harry stroked the hand that was gripping his shoulder and his lover needed no more invitation. Harry's green light began to pulse as well as waves of pleasure met each move Draco made.

Magic and lust combined and Harry began to sound his desire; Draco was not silent either, and the room echoed with their voices, sometimes in harmony, other times dischords that made the tone so much more interesting. Harry fixated on their creation, which was hovering in front of him, watching its sparks and spirals as his pleasure centres and, clearly those of his lover, overloaded. Its reactions to their love-making was mesmerising and drew him further in to the mix of sensations. When Draco growled and thrust hard into him, Harry tensed around him and both lights flared wildly. Harry held on to his lover and his power wrapped around Draco's as well, capturing the energy in the orgasm, bending it to his pleasure as well as his partner's. Draco shuddered and his light exploded into tiny stars which glittered away to nothing as he slumped against Harry's back. Harry drew in several deep breaths, letting his own pleasure centres settle, and he could feel his magic softening as well. Draco was gasping and his damp skin pressing on and off of Harry's meant that the green light kept pulsing gently for a little while, but the sexual moment was over and so, reaching out to the evidence of his unity with Draco, he dismissed it.

There was a void inside him where the rushing power had been, and when Draco recovered himself enough to withdraw, Harry whined the loss of both intimacies. Draco kissed his shoulder, but sank away, back into the bath water, and when Harry turned, his lover was lying almost supine in the tub, his eyes closed and a happy little smile playing over his face. Content for the moment, Harry slid down into the water as well.


	75. New Battles, Little and Large

Harry lay in the bath watching Draco dry his hair with a small towel. It had been a leisurely bath after their tryst with a little washing-come-petting and not much more, and Harry was still enjoying the gently amorous atmosphere which had settled around him. Yet, Draco had suddenly complained that his fingers had pruned and climbed out of the tub. The ironic thing was that he hadn't gone near his skin with a towel as yet; he had begun with his hair, which left Harry with a very nice view of glistening muscle. Harry had little intention of moving unless his view disappeared, and so he just admired his Adonis as he ran a comb through towel-dried mane. Draco was vain, Harry had known that since childhood, but his lover preening himself was very attractive and he shifted as his body pulsed.

"You'll prune too," Draco warned and gave Harry a look which said he'd been well aware of the attention he'd been receiving.

"Right at the moment, I couldn't give a damn," Harry quipped back, and ran his eyes very obviously round the contour of Draco's arse.

Draco snorted, and, to Harry's disappointment, reached for a large bath sheet from the rail. However, Harry's discontent was quickly replaced by his libido when Draco did not instantly wrap himself in the fabric. Instead, he let it drop mostly to the ground, hanging on to one corner, and he pranced towards the door, dragging it behind him, saying, "Well, when you do decide to get out of that bath, I'll be in the bedroom."

Harry moved fast enough that water spilled over the side of the tub onto the floor, and he didn't bother with a towel, or comb or anything in fact, he just headed rapidly after his lover. Harry was halted in the doorway by a chuckle from Draco; Draco was stood in what had once been a large space between the door and the bed, but it was now filled by a table laden with food. Draco was stood to one side of the table, towel still draped languidly down one leg, and he was holding a piece of card in his other hand.

"Not expecting you for dinner, will explain to Ron, love Hermione," Draco read out loud when he realised he was no longer alone, he then added with a smile at Harry, "I'm really beginning to like your friends."

Harry grinned back and walked over to the table. Leisurely, he wrapped Draco in a cuddle from behind and read the note once for himself. When Draco put the card back next to a soup terrine, Harry lost interest in Hermione's foresight and decided that Draco's shoulder looked edible enough for him. Draco dropped the towel and ran a palm up either of Harry's thighs and then over his buttocks, squeezing and splaying them as he pushed back into the erection Harry had been slowly nursing. Harry murmured his appreciation and bit shoulder lightly. Draco laughed, slapping buttock before he stepped away from the embrace and teased, "If you keep biting like that, we shan't know what is dinner and what isn't."

Harry smiled his lust at his lover, but said nothing, watching again as Draco walked around the other side of the table and examined the contents. He picked up a knife and sliced a piece of cheddar off a large block, and then, biting into it, continued on his way past the table and into the room. Harry wasn't that hungry, having spent the afternoon in a café with the twins and Molly, and he lost interest in the fare on offer as his attention followed what else was on offer. Draco could tease even when he wasn't trying, and he was making an effort now, so Harry was all eyes and throbbing dick as Draco leant against a bedpost and enjoyed the food. Harry wasn't going to give in to the inferred come hither easily, however, as he chose to take it as a challenge, so he leant on the opposite bedpost to his lover and indulged his gaze.

Draco finished the snack slowly and deliberately, shifting a little this way and that, the glaze on his skin slowly drying in the heat from the fire opposite the bed. Harry watched every move, intent on each flex of muscle. Gradually, however, his attention shifted down to the lion's head once more. Part of him could still not believe what he had done, especially now the threat was over. He owned this man in a very intimate way, and likewise, he was owned, and no-one else knew: a blemish and a battle scar were unlikely statements of union, and he knew they would remain private forever. Their moment by moment existence had left a legacy for both lovers, and it was there between them, joining them, when Draco drew Harry's attention back to his face with no more than a glance.

Draco had been watching him as well, Harry had felt the gaze, even if he hadn't seen it, and he guessed his lover's thoughts had been similar to his own when his instincts felt that attention shift. Draco was waiting for his look when he levelled it back onto his partner's face, and Draco's sparking stare was heavy with more than just lust. Yet, most of the gaze went unsaid as Draco addressed only the immediate, their mutual desires. The table suddenly lost most of its legs, shrinking down to be only a few inches off the ground, and it slid a little closer towards the fireplace under Draco's direction. Cushions and pillows flew off the bed and landed on the deep-pile rug in front of the fire, and he invited, "Dinner?"

Hungry or not, naked and horny, Harry knew that dinner was going to be interesting, so, with a smile of agreement, he dropped to his knees and then lay over some of the cushions. He then patted the area beside him and, with far more elegance, Draco sank down and arranged himself and the rest of the cushions and pillows so that the couple were just touching. Harry was in a more definite mood, so he reached out and stroked his palm down the curve of Draco's hip; his lover purred and leant in for a kiss. A slight push from Draco and Harry submitted to being rolled almost onto his back. He entwined his legs with his lover, rubbing his groin against Draco's and shortly tipped his head back and closed his eyes as Draco broke the kiss and began to nuzzle his neck.

The familiar territory meant he knew the moves, but something was missing as tongue and teeth excited his Adam's Apple. Harry couldn't place the strangeness he was feeling, and he was mostly distracted by Draco's attention and he tried to ignore it, but his body knew better than his brain, and as he tensed his neck muscles it was Draco who realised something was wrong. When the embrace was broken and Draco propped himself up above him, Harry opened his eyes and looked up at his lover in frustrated confusion. Draco was smiling, and clearly not confused at all, and he ran one finger lightly around Harry's throat and observed, "Missing the leather?"

Harry was shocked by that remark: he most certainly wasn't missing the collar and all it stood for. He opened his mouth to object to such a suggestion, but Draco's finger moved to his lips and stopped him from speaking.

"Not the why," his lover clarified, "just the what."

Harry had to pause then, and he wasn't that comfortable with himself when he had to conclude that he was missing the nice sensations that Draco had found for him when tongue and leather combined. Draco was still smiling at him, even as he frowned back, and he assured him, "It's a fetish, lots of people have fetishes."

Harry sat up, not sure what to do. Admitting that he had enjoyed even one aspect of the presence of something that had been forced onto him as a tool of degradation was one thing, but with the interruption to their embrace, Harry was beginning to think he might want something similar back, and that was pushing his boundaries too far. Harry could not dismiss the fetish as easily as Draco, and the mention of it dampened his ardour considerably. Draco laid a hand on his shoulder, and Harry actually started, having been lost in the quagmire of his sensibilities.

"No collar," Draco decided for him, but then, with an intimate smile added, "but maybe I have something that may substitute."

Harry wasn't sure about that suggestion either, but he did not object when Draco held out his hand to the bag he had filled that morning, which was sat on the bed. It slid off the bed and landed close by, but Harry stared into the fire when Draco began rummaging. He jumped again when Draco gently stroked his arm, but settled when his shoulder was kissed.

"Close you eyes and lift you chin a little," Draco told him.

His stomach doing somersaults, which were not altogether unpleasant, Harry did as he was told. He was tense when something soft and smooth touched his neck, and for the third time he started, but Draco just kissed him again and drew the silky something around his neck. It didn't feel like a collar, not even when Draco tied it just tight enough to sit against his neck and warily he reached up to touch it. It was a scarf, folded over itself, long and thin, probably real silk. Draco did not give Harry much time to explore it with his fingers, however, because, as soon as it was tied, a pull urged Harry back onto the cushions. Draco swiftly resumed his kisses.

At first, Harry was tense and unsure, as the strange feel of silk did not match the touch of leather at all. However, then Draco dragged his tongue under the edge of the cloth and, unable to help himself, Harry sighed his appreciation and arched his head back. Damp muscle was immediately trapped below silk and Harry found his kink free from the difficult associations that had gone with the collar. Draco chuckled from the back of his throat and then intensified his affection.

* * *

Harry was blissfully unaware of anything but the way his body responded to his lover by the time Draco had finished with him, and he was reluctant to let the intense feelings go, even when Draco sat up away from him. His partner was still comfortably close by, so Harry stretched, but kept his eyes closed, concentrating on the eddies of pleasure that were still running through his system. He was therefore totally unprepared when something sticky and just below warm landed in and filled his belly button. He let out an expletive and tried to sit up, but Draco pushed him back off balance and his blond head descended to Harry's stomach. This wasn't magic, not like Draco's icy lips, it was far more down to earth, and Harry wriggled and whined as tongue licked at the dollop of what Harry guessed was something like honey, and syrupy rivulets ran slowly out from his navel, loosening over his hot skin. He wasn't altogether comfortable with the sticky sensations as the fluid clung to his skin, raising the small hairs all over his body, but then he didn't completely dislike it either. Draco's tongue lapped at the thick globule, sending wonderful tickles of passion out through Harry, and he really didn't know whether to shudder in disgust or desire.

Harry was still battling himself when Draco ran his tongue from navel to neck and then planted a sweet, sticky kiss on his lips. The contact was swift and energetic, but most of all messy, but Harry was going beyond the point of caring. The honey made the dance of tongues unusual, and the flavour reminded him of steamy summer days. When Draco broke the kiss, he was grinning once more, honey glistening over his chin in a very un-Malfoy like way, and he whispered breathily, "One of my kinks."

"Honey?" Harry clarified, shifting up onto his elbows and looking down at the golden brown substance that was dribbling down the sides of his abdomen and introducing him to new erotic sensations as it ran into the hair on his groin.

"Honey, syrup, jam, anything that produces a good viscous surface," Draco shrugged, and picked up the jar he had placed beside Harry.

Harry watched as the glutinous fluid was drawn out slowly on the deeply grooved wooden honey dipper before it drizzled back into the clear pot. Draco was intent on the golden stream and he was smiling to himself as he told Harry, "Lie down, Love."

Tacking the form on address on the end of a phrase never failed to make Harry fuzzy inside, and in truth would have had him do just about anything, so he laid down. Still, he wasn't sure about the sticky mess and it must have shown, because when Draco finally looked to him, away from the play he had begun with the drizzle stick, his grin grew wider and he chuckled, "You'll enjoy this, Harry-Love."

The freedom and sheer fun in Draco's smile settled most of Harry's aversion to the game: it was only honey, so he rolled his eyes and countered, "Never knew you had such a sweet tooth."

The only answer to that was the sudden feel of a feather brushing his abs just above where the honey had spread. Harry gasped in surprise and glanced down himself; it was more honey, only this time in a fine ribbon running down from on high.

"Relax," Draco urged, watching the folds of fluid soften and spread out over Harry's abdomen.

It did feel rather good, so Harry lifted his arms away from his body and spread out on the cushions. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the light tickling that became clinging tightness on his skin. Draco dribbled the honey all over his stomach, making Harry shiver with the lightness of the touch sometimes and murmur when the dipper drew patterns in the rivers of natural sweetness. When tongue joined syrup, Harry pushed against the damp warmth as it relieved the slightly itchy tightness of the honey and the sensations were exquisite.

Draco teased as usual, his visits to Harry's skin sparing and leaving him wanting so much more. His flesh was goose bumped and alive with sensation when Draco began to aim the trickles further up his chest, and slowly, so slowly, they headed towards one proud nipple. Harry shuddered and ground his teeth as swirls of sticky fluid converged on the sensitive skin and his sound caught in the back of his throat as the gravity-fed stream finally ribboned onto his nipple, but it was nothing when compared with the affect of lightly sucking mouth that shortly smothered the whole sensation. Harry gasped and reared into the sucking and licking motions that Draco began, his body pulsing with arousal. Draco applied his tongue ruthlessly, clearing honey and driving Harry crazy, and when teeth announced his departure, Harry swore, collapsing back onto his cushions as his lover released him.

Harry was breathing hard, and more than a little turned on when Draco knelt back, licking his lips slowly and smiling.

"Good?" he asked in a manner than said he was sure of the answer.

"Good," Harry returned anyway, not denying his lover the small moment of victory.

"You know, this honey was meant to go with some waffles," Draco continued, waving at the table, "and there is still a good amount of the stuff here," he reached out and stuck his finger in Harry's navel, catching up some of the remaining syrup and taking it to his mouth.

Whatever Draco had been about to say, Harry didn't care; the flippant tease in his partner found his own sense of mischievous fun and he was not going to let Draco get away with the offhand use of his body. Quickly, he sat up and grabbed his lover and rolled him into a sticky tussle as he objected with a laugh, "I am not a glorified dipping pot."

Harry made sure he pressed his torso against his lover's, spreading the glutinous stickiness out between them, and Draco complained and fought back. The pair were giggling like schoolboys and they rolled over and over, leaving a glistening trail of honey on the carpet as they went. When the momentum ran out, Harry eventually landed on top of Draco and he held him down. Draco flexed against him, laughing and protesting for a few moments, but they were intimately close, and he did not object for long. In fact, as the pair gazed at each other, the mirth disappeared in favour of much deeper emotion: laughter became smile became understanding. Draco could see into his soul, Harry knew that without a doubt, and the vague memories of their time in the orb came back to the front of his thoughts. He didn't really want to think about those moments, like the honey, he wasn't sure if he liked the recollections. He had been closer to Draco then than he had ever been or would ever be again: no flesh had separated them. Yet the death and despair surrounding those moments made them hard to remember, and they frightened Harry more than he would ever admit. Focusing on the closeness, he quickly pushed everything else away by forcing Draco into a kiss.

The honey was no longer as sweet as it had been, the game was lost, and Harry broke the kiss as it failed to stem his anxiety. Draco looked up at him, confused and concerned by the sudden change in mood, and Harry couldn't explain. With a shake of his head, he pushed himself off his lover and headed rapidly away from the memories. The bathroom as an escape route was not a good one, being a dead end, but Harry left behind his libido and everything that had gone with it in favour of practical things as he picked up the flannel from the side of the bath and began, half-heartedly, to clean himself.

Harry had his back to the door, he didn't see Draco enter the room, neither did he hear his footfalls on the soft carpet, but he knew he was stood behind him. The couple remained silent, Harry busily clearing honey from his torso, Draco just standing there as far as Harry could tell. When a hand touched his shoulder, Harry was half expecting it, but he still started and tensed, dropping the flannel. A whispered word from Draco and he was completely clean, at least on the surface, and another word and the scarf was gone as well. Then he saw his lover's beech wand hit the floor by his feet before there were arms around him. Draco didn't say anything, he just kissed his shoulder, and Harry responded by tipping his head back and resting against his partner.

No games, no kinks, just two lovers holding close, and Harry needed that simplicity to chase away his ghosts. He couldn't explain himself, and he was glad Draco did not ask, and when a hand slid down his arm and gripped his own, he took it and let himself be led back into the bedroom. Draco pushed him down across the top of the bed: Harry obeyed and was straddled. He did not get a chance to see his partner's face, because Draco almost instantly began to kiss him again, hard and emphatic, his fingers tangled in Harry's hair. The aggression brought out the wilder side of Harry's libido and he pushed back at Draco's mouth and ran his nails down Draco's arms, drawing a growl of desire from his lover. He growled back and his body throbbed, all else put aside.

The rough embrace did not last long, enough time to leave long red scratches on Draco's pale skin and make Harry's scalp feel like his hair had been pulled out, but Harry's pulse was racing by the time Draco drew back and knelt over him. Draco's gaze showed nothing but lust, and a feral dominance held him taut above Harry. Harry replied with some governance of his own, and he used his nails once more, straight down Draco's chest. His lover arched his back into the movement, throwing his head back and gasping with the pain-pleasure Harry was inflicting. The movement tamed him a little, and Draco smiled at Harry, stroking his pecs lightly. However, this moment wasn't finished, and, shortly, Draco reached behind and took hold of Harry's growing erection.

Magic flowed in time with Draco's hand, and Harry flexed his hips involuntarily as lubrication laced with stimulation ran from base to tip of his dick, and brought him the rest of the way to fully erect. He whined and then growled again as his whole body took notice of the throbbing from his groin. Draco very deliberately stroked the head of his erection, and Harry closed his eyes and flexed upwards again, surrendering to the sensations. He felt magic move, and then as he reared a third time under Draco's direction, a pillow was slid under his buttocks. Harry opened his eyes and looked up into pure sexual excitement: Draco's mouth was slightly open, his breath running noisily over his lips, and his eyes were wide with expectation.

Draco knelt up and Harry's stomach did flip flops as his lover positioned himself over his erection. The press of Draco's entrance against his cock enticed another push upwards and he sighed in time with Draco as he slid into the tight, welcoming orifice. The rare experience made him smile and the world was shut out. He wanted his lover desperately, and needed to be wanted in return. The way Draco threw his head back again and bared himself to him, Harry knew he was indeed wanted, and he reached up to stroke the scratches he had already made. Draco settled around him, pausing, adjusting to the intrusion, and Harry took the time to enjoy the closeness. His cock was pulsing with each small movement his lover made, and Harry panted as his arousal took him a little by surprise. It had taken only moments for his libido to take over once more, and the intensity threatened to make his response too quick to be satisfying.

His lover dropped his gaze once more, smiling down at him, and Harry had not doubt his reactions had been read. Yet, Draco didn't tease, or even make comment, it was no time for flippancy, he just took hold of Harry's palms and Harry found fingers entwining with his. Then Draco began to move: he lifted himself up a little way and then sank back down. Harry pushed into the movement, catching his breath in his throat as his pleasure increased, and was gratified to hear something similar from Draco. At his positive response, Draco became bolder, moving faster and more definitely. Harry squeezed the fingers between his and let his passion build.

Draco's direction pulled Harry towards climax in degrees that made him whine, pant and even swear as he hung on, holding his reactions back and making the experience last as long as he could. This was as close as he could come to his partner now, body to body, magic to magic, but despite that knowledge, the orb memories made him hungry for the pure intimacy of the soul. He had taken control in the orb, protected his loved one, wrapped him in everything that he was, and Harry wanted control now. He strived for a small recreation of the strength he had felt from the orb as he suddenly took mastery of the love-making. Draco resisted a moment as Harry loosed his hands, took his lover's hips and urged him to one side, but Harry had the advantage of surprise, and he flipped Draco onto his back. His bag went flying off the bed as the tumble made room for them, and, gasping more with emotion than exertion, Harry stilled on top of Draco, still intimately close.

Draco's shock at the sudden change showed in his face, and he lay still, looking up at the dominance that Harry showed him. Harry was somewhat confused by his actions as well, not really wanting to admit to drawing his memories into the moment that could have shut out everything. It was Draco who understood first, maybe not the motive, but the emotion behind it, and slowly, he brought his legs up and wrapped them around Harry. He lay back on the bed, relaxing away from the tension in Harry, and arched into the closeness. Harry knew that he was being offered everything, both passion and control, and he took it. He knew his lover, he knew what he liked, and he began to move, slow and hard.

Draco moaned at the first forceful penetration, tipping his head back and revealing his long, aristocratic neck, and excitement cascaded through Harry. As he gained control, the moment ceased to be about such mastery: instead, he was loved and trusted, and that sentiment chased everything else away. With each movement of his body, he endeavoured to return the acceptance that Draco gave him, letting the passion between them open the door on the moment, but close it on the rest of the world. Nothing mattered but the way he felt, mentally and physically, and Harry thrust into his lover, drawing out ecstatic moans, even as his determination kept him mostly silent. He held the emotions inside, building the love he had for his partner as he built their passions. When his orgasm hit him like a wall, Harry screamed, letting everything out and Draco took it all, capturing his climax by tightening around him, and holding his heart with the gaze of a god: Draco was beautiful and powerful and his.

The high was too hard and too fast to hold on to for long, and Harry collapsed away from it, his arms giving out, and he collapsed on top of Draco's rapidly rising and falling chest. His lover's legs still held him loosely and palms rubbed his shoulders and so, for a little while, Harry lay still in the calming moments. Draco didn't let him go until he moved, and then, slowly, they unwrapped from each other. Harry rolled onto his back and stared up at the four poster canopy, confused by the returning mess of emotion that the sex had chased away. He was wonderfully content lying beside Draco, he had everything he wanted, love and life, but still the darkness that had brought him to this moment haunted his thoughts. Harry knew he couldn't escape the nightmare that was behind him, it would have to be dealt with; but not now. Propping himself up on his side, Harry would have rolled the rest of the way back to Draco, but found himself met halfway by his lover. They reached out to each other, and chased away the demons more gently.


	76. Testing Offers

The pain was excruciating, but that wasn't why Harry was afraid. He could beat the false fire, he could beat Cruciatus, because he could feel Draco inside, their magic linked at a level no-one else could possibly understand. He screamed his agony, shook with the hurt that was trying to break him, but the fear in his belly was not for that. When he felt the pain in his chest, his fear personified: Voldemort was stood before him, bloody knife in hand and he smiled as Harry struggled. His body stopped working, breath by breath and beat by beat, and, tasting the blood in his throat, Harry knew he could not fight the fading of the world. The draw on his soul forced him away from everything, drawing him down from his senses, from his magic and from his love. Unable to make more than a gurgle in the real world, Harry screamed for all he was worth into death.

Harry sat up rapidly, the scream of terror ripping through the darkness around him, and he couldn't stop. The horror of dying when not even free to pass over made it out of his mind into the night, and he could not control the panic in his chest. Suddenly though, a light beside him came on, lighting the bedroom for what it was and Draco's arm came round his shoulder. Breathing hard and trying to grab on to reality, Harry relaxed against Draco, who pulled him in.

"That sounded bad," Draco observed, hugging his shivering form.

"I died," Harry answered, knowing the explanation was woefully inadequate for the intricate nightmare Voldemort had invented for him, but not knowing what else to say.

Draco hugged him tighter, enough to say he understood, and Harry slowly reached back. He had been in this man's arms all evening, as they had swung between playful celebration and deep emotion, but Harry needed Draco again more than ever as the chill of dying refused to let him go. He listened to his lover's heartbeat, needing it to know that life went on, and used it to push away his trembling.

Since their relationship had begun, the couple had discovered that there were nightmares which dissipated quickly allowing a return to sleep, and then there were other nightmares, ones that clung to the dreamer even after reality had returned, and neither young man needed words to know that this was one of the latter. There was no point addressing the terror and giving it more hold on the world, and so Draco was the one to try a diversion.

"I was saving this till tomorrow," Draco told Harry, relaxing his hold, but not letting go entirely, "but now is as good a time as any."

Harry's curiosity did the work of pushing away the nightmare so that he sat back and looked into his lover's face. Draco was smiling gently, but there was more to his disclosure than pleasure; Harry just waited for it.

"Albus spoke to me today: he offered me a job at Hogwarts."

"But you don't need a job," Harry said the first thing that occurred to him; as long as he had known Draco Malfoy, he had been either aimed at, or had been the wealthy playboy, money no object and a normal job not a consideration.

Draco chuckled lightly and continued, "But it doesn't mean I don't want one. Albus offered me Charms, and I think I want to take it."

"You haven't answered him yet?" Harry clarified, unable to stem his surprise at the revelation, which was doing a good job of dulling the nightmare.

"I wanted to talk to you about it first," Draco answered, rubbing a palm down Harry's arm.

"If it's what you want," Harry answered, his perspective on life changing as he thought about such a concrete future. "Ron and I'll just floo from here to work every day."

At that, Draco looked down at the bed sheets and roused Harry's suspicions.

"What is it?" he asked, in no mood to guess.

Draco looked back up, his gaze unsure, but direct as he continued, "Albus mentioned something else when he asked me about the job; he wants to offer you one as well."

"I have a job," Harry replied instantly, sitting back further and not sure what to make of the idea.

"He was thinking that you might consider the Dark Arts' post," Draco continued, speaking more quickly so that Harry could not get a word in as he went on, "Just for a year, a sabbatical."

"Why should I want a sabbatical, there are bad guys to round up, they need all the Aurors they have," Harry objected, his hackles rising defensively as he failed to work out the motive for such a job offer.

"Harry-Love," Draco continued, taking his hand and making sure he had his attention: Harry wasn't about to look anywhere else. "You've been to hell and back: you need a rest."

"And being a teacher would give me a rest?" Harry asked incredulously, pulling his hand away and glaring as he realised that people were worried about his health still, after all the hoops.

"From the negative things, yes," Draco replied, his voice still soft and to Harry, annoyingly understanding.

"Since when is catching the villains negative?!" he demanded hotly, his temper coming out to defend any doubts that the suggestions raised.

Harry wanted Draco to look away, to yell, be nasty, give him some avenue for escaping the conversation, but his lover gave him nothing but a concerned gaze and held him captive.

"The outcome is positive," Draco agreed, but then countered, "but you know how rough it can be getting there."

"And you don't think I can handle it?!" Harry was getting angrier by the second.

"I don't think you should have to handle it," Draco was still trying to soothe, and he pressed, "It was even suggested that you might take time off, not do anything, but we both know you'd go stir crazy in a week."

"Who suggested it?" Harry leapt in the idea that people had been discussing it behind his back. "Why was all this going on when I wasn't there?"

"I'm sure Albus would have discussed this with you at dinner if we'd gone," Draco answered, reaching out again.

Harry wanted to pull away, snap at everything and deny that he needed a rest, but Draco was being too sensible. He was an Auror, he'd been an Auror since leaving school, and Harry had never thought about not being an Auror. The idea that his friends had doubts about his abilities made him insecure and angry, but that didn't mean part of him didn't wonder if they were right. That part left him confused and hurt, and therefore angry.

"Does everybody think I'm such a mess I can't do my job?" he demanded, his voice thin and trying to hide the hurt.

"You're strong, Harry," Draco told him directly, "stronger than most other people in this world, but even strong people need respite. None of us think you can't do your job, and we will all stand by you no matter what you decide, but we want you to at least think about it."

The argument was so reasonable it left Harry in a quandary. He wanted to be indignant and defensive, but he was just confused by his conflicting emotions. A chance to come back to Hogwarts, the school he remembered, was not something to be turned down easily, however, neither was the idea of letting go of all that he was used to. Harry didn't answer Draco, he just leant forward and put his head on his lover's shoulder.

* * *

Harry didn't sleep much for the rest of the night, but he lay still in Draco's embrace, allowing his lover to sleep, and dozing himself when the balance between the fear of more nightmares and tiredness allowed. The job offer and its connotations had not been mentioned again, not during their leisurely bath the next morning, which rekindled some lust, nor as they walked down to breakfast at least half an hour later than had been discussed the previous day. Everybody else was therefore seated at a table in the Great Hall when the couple arrived. Most of the room was still being used to coordinate the clearing up process, but the raised platform that Harry had known all his school career had been reinstated sometime the previous day, and all of his friends were seated at the long staff table enjoying a hearty breakfast. It wasn't quite as Harry remembered it from school, since people were seated all the way around the table, but the fact that Albus and Minerva were seated side by side in approximately their normal positions gave Harry a strange feeling of confused déjà vu when he walked up to the group.

"Good Morning, Harry, Draco," Albus greeted with his usual serene smile, and he stood up.

Most other people put down their cutlery and added greetings, however, Ron wagged his fork at the couple and teased, "At last, we thought you were going to cry off again."

The fact that Ron could now joke about his relationship with Draco made Harry smile more than the tease, but he didn't say anything. Draco, however, was bolder and quipped back, "It was a close run thing."

Ron went red as he had the day before, and Harry felt his cheeks heat up at the blatant innuendo in Draco's tone: he didn't think he or Ron were ever going to get used to Draco's flippancy over such personal things. Draco himself just grinned victoriously at Ron and dragged Harry to the seats that had clearly been left for them. No-one else made comment until they were sat down, and then Hermione diverted easily, "We were just starting to go through The Prophet: it's their first free issue."

Harry was not so sure about the 'free' part; having dealt with propaganda for so long, he was well aware that the press generally had task masters, whoever they happened to be. However, he said nothing and let his friend pick up the aforesaid paper.

"You and Draco are on the front page, Harry," Hermione continued, and waving it at them added, "Well, your plaque is, anyway."

Harry groaned; Draco groaned and was passed the paper when he asked for a closer look. Harry found the headline shoved under his nose, and he couldn't avoid looking at the 'naked plaque' as he now thought of it. He had ignored it on the way in, but it seemed that the whole of Britain was now privy to what he saw as an embarrassing statement. Harry didn't care how 'poignant' it was, or that the headline was praising his and Draco's bravery, the carving made him uncomfortable.

"We're going to have to get used to it," Draco sighed and patted him on the back, seemingly coming to terms with the plaque more quickly than Harry.

"I don't see why you have a problem with it," Ginny shrugged and took the paper as Draco passed it back up the table. "It's a very strong image."

"When you have something that personal spread all over a wall and printed as a headline, then you can come back to this moment and we'll have a chat," Harry snarked, tiredness having already frayed his humour.

Ginny looked shocked by his response and Harry regretted being quite so waspish, but what with his new magic, plaques and his friends' lack of confidence in his sanity, there were a lot of things piling up in his life that were making him uncomfortable and he did not know how else to handle them.

"Ignore him," Draco jumped in to the rescue, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulder, "we didn't get much sleep last night."

It had indeed been late when the lovers had finally fallen into bed to actually sleep, and the second innuendo in as many minutes did its job of making Ginny laugh before she started to read out the cover story for everyone to hear. Dean, who was sat beside her, did not look so comfortable with the quip, but Harry wasn't going to address that, remembering Poppy's lecture on the ward: that was another thing he now had to think about, what the headlines might say about his sexuality. Harry had to address that private issue much sooner than he had expected, as Ginny flipped the first page of the newspaper and continued to read the cover story. Harry hadn't really been listening to the beginning, it had been about bravery and sacrifice and Voldemort being dead and freedom, everything that he had expected from the first article of the 'free' Prophet. However, Ginny abruptly stopped reading out loud, and her jaw and eyes widened as her gaze scanned whatever had come next.

"I don't believe it," she eventually worded, a laugh in her sound. "How do they get these things so wrong?"

"What?" Tonks asked, leaning in from next to her friend, and then she too began to chuckle, and she did read aloud, "'Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, this paper is glad to report, remain the closest of friends, and many readers may be wondering what is next for our heroes. This reporter has been reliably informed that there is romance in the air, at least for Harry Potter, who has been linked with his childhood friend, Ginny Weasley, with whom his friendship was rekindled after he rescued her from a fate worse than death at Hogwarts.'"

Harry sat straight at that, ice running up and down his spine, and he did not understand the mirth of his compatriots. Even Dean nearly spat a spoonful of his cereal as he laughed, and then warned, "Hands off my girl, Potter."

Harry wasn't seeing the funny side. Ginny was his friend, his sister almost, and someone trying to suggest otherwise undermined that truth and also his relationship with Draco. Yet, Draco seemed to be the only one of his younger friends who noticed that he was not laughing, and he was grateful for a hand slid into in his. He glanced at his lover, who smiled at him and squeezed his fingers. He then looked up the table to Albus and Minerva, who had, as usual, noted his disquiet. Remus too, one up from Tonks, was not laughing.

"You have to see the funny side," Ginny giggled, finally noticing Harry's silence. "I mean it's ridiculous. You and I have never been like that, well not since my first year anyway."

Not wanting to snark again, Harry managed a smile and diverted, "There had to be something better in there than inaccurate accounts of my love life."

Ginny shrugged, and with a grin, passed the paper up the table. The next person who fancied reading something was Ron, who eagerly too the edition and opened it randomly. He then frowned for a second and began flicking as he mumbled, "Adverts." However, he came to an abrupt halt and glanced up rapidly, straight at Draco.

"What is it?" Fred or George noted his brother's discomfort.

"A very bad picture," Ron recovered himself, and carried on flicking more rapidly than he had before.

When he stopped once more, he smiled to himself and commented, "Here's something we all need to know about. 'The liberty celebrations would, of course, not be complete without rewarding those who have risked their lives for such a cause. Tomorrow at noon, Britain will express its gratitude to all the witches and wizards who freed her from tyranny in the form of an awards ceremony at the Ministry. The ceremony will be followed by many gala soirees for which the guest list begins with none other than the American Ambassador, Mrs Maxine Strongblood. A statement from the Ambassador's office said...'"

Harry stopped listening when the political speak began, and reached for some toast. He was busily applying butter when he realised that the reading had stopped and he was once again centre of attention.

"I gather by your discontent, My Boy, that you have not changed your mind about the medal ceremony," Albus observed, looking over his glasses at Harry.

Harry put down the toast, his appetite thinning, and he responded directly, "If Fudge is dolling out the handshakes, I'm not going."

"I hope you do not mind, Harry, but I spoke with the Ministry on this matter yesterday," Dumbledore continued. "They and I both feel that the ceremony would lack the positive impact which is intended if you were not present."

Harry opened his mouth to object, he was used to emotional and political blackmail from Percy, and he was not about to take it from Albus Dumbledore as well. However, his mentor continued smoothly, "However, I understand your reservations about Minister Fudge, indeed I share them, and thus I have endeavoured to reach a compromise on your behalf."

Harry closed his mouth and tried not the scowl.

"Would you be amenable to attending the ceremony if Amelia Bones were to be making the awards?"

"Yes," Harry responded instantly, not having to weigh up his answer at all as his spirits lifted. "Yes, I would."

"Excellent," Albus smiled, and the rest of the table relaxed in a way that made Harry think that this subject had also been discussed behind his back; he buried that thought, picked up his toast and chewed on it rather hard.

* * *

Breakfast was not too onerous an affair in the end. Harry dropped his bad mood in favour of relaxing and listening to the conversation. He wasn't very talkative, and he knew Albus and Minerva were watching him again, but the mood around him was too buoyant to really leave him behind. By the time the meal came to an end, Harry was looking forward to the day, even if he wasn't sure what he was going to be doing since he still didn't have a wand and no-one seemed to want to let him loose without one. Everyone else seemed to have plans: Molly and Arthur were heading back to the Burrow; the twins were going back to their shop, apparently business was booming; Albus and Minerva seemed to be involved in administration; most other people were continuing to help with the clear up. Draco had not mentioned what he was going to be doing, not until they all stood up, and then he turned to Harry and told him, "I have some fire calls to make, see you later?"

Harry nodded, but couldn't stifle the strange feeling that gave him. He and Draco had been joined at the hip for so long, doing something independently was a shock to the system. He felt lonely and then instantly foolish at the thought. Draco saw some of his mixed up emotion, and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Harry lied, the grown man in him trying to be sensible.

"Harry, My Boy," Albus came to Harry's rescue as he walked round the table with Minerva at his shoulder and asked, "May we speak with you?"

Harry reassured the worry in Draco again with, "I can't get into any trouble with Albus and Min by my side," and then he gave his lover a peck on the cheek.

Draco checked one more time with a heavy glance, but when Harry smiled at him, he turned and headed out of the room without him. Then Harry finally paid attention to his mentors, and guessed what it was about which they wished to speak. His temper didn't exactly sour, but he was serious as he told them, "It's about the job, isn't it?"

His friends glanced at each other and then Albus took the lead and confirmed, "Yes, it is about the post."

"Draco told me last night," Harry explained and started to walk towards the exit with his companions in tow.

There was silence until they had left the Great Hall, and then, as Harry decided he needed fresh air, Minerva asked, "And what do you feel about the offer?"

Harry didn't answer until they were in the open, and then he stopped, turned and replied honestly, "I don't know."

Minerva immediately looked worried, but Albus seemed to have been expecting his confusion, and Harry was glad of that.

"I have a job," he repeated the mantra that had been going around in his head since Draco had mentioned the offer.

His friends knew him well, and Minerva soothed with the insight, "And we are not suggesting you leave it forever. We know how much being an Auror means to you, Harry. We are merely suggesting a sabbatical, where a new task may offer different challenges."

"Do you think I can't handle being an Auror?" Harry asked, trying not to sound defensive, but knowing he did anyway.

Minerva and Albus looked at each other again, and Harry turned and began to walk off again, not wishing to see the silent dialogue over how to reply to him. His ego and his self-image had taken a hit when Draco had mentioned the job offer, and to have both his mentors pause over an answer on his capabilities hurt even more.

"Harry," Albus called, and he stopped, despite all his intentions to storm away.

He was worried and upset, but not angry anymore, and Harry needed the answer, so he turned and waited for his companions to catch him up once more. Once they were in a group once more, Albus continued, "Harry, this country has asked much of you already, you need to rest. There are some months until the school opens, which will be a busy time for those concerned, but it should also afford you and Draco time to recuperate in a sheltered environment. Draco needs something to divert him from the difficulties he is going to face adjusting to a normal life, and also his concerns for his mother. You, I believe, require a similar time of solace, and in my opinion, that time would be best spent with Draco."

Harry hadn't thought about how his partner was reacting to the future, and he felt selfish about not having considered it. His own position went instantly to the back of his mind and he asked, "Is that why Draco is making all the fire calls, because of Narcissa?"

"I believe that is why he has been in communication with Minister Fudge, yes," Albus answered.

The fact that Draco hadn't mentioned the context of his calls now made sense of the family comment of yesterday, and concerned Harry. He had seen the devastation in Draco that the last meeting with Narcissa had caused and the fact that Draco was dealing with it on his own made Harry want to rush into the castle and find his lover. Yet, he also knew Draco, and he knew his overreaction would not be greeted well, so he stayed put, in a quandary.

"Do not worry about Draco, Harry, I believe Severus was planning to go with him," Minerva tried to offer comfort, but the mention of Severus Snape was never a comfort to Harry and in fact made him jealous.

"Despite your feelings about him, Severus has much in common with Draco," Albus read his reaction like a book.

Harry wanted to be sensible about it, but his emotions concerning Draco and Severus were so opposed that the thought of them together made him nervous, especially since he didn't trust Severus not to use the time he spent with Draco against him. Severus liked the fact that he and Draco were together even less than Harry liked the idea of the two Slytherins being friends, and Snape had never held back from using any advantage he had to disadvantage Harry in the past.

"He also knows I am keeping an eye on him," Minerva added, pursing her lips and showing some of the old rivalry she had shared with the Slytherin head of house.

That comment made Harry feel better; he trusted his mentor and her ability to keep Severus in line. He managed a smile.

"Now, about you," the woman continued.

"May I have some time to think about it?" he decided to put off thinking too hard about his options.

"Of course, My Boy," Albus returned in a way that reassured Harry and made him think his friend would be calling him 'My Boy' even when he was fifty.


	77. Wands, Galleons and Advice

Harry had left Albus and Minerva a little while later and decided to go for a walk, since if any of his friends caught him on his own in the castle they'd have locked him up. He found his way down to the lake and was contemplating the waters and not much else when Draco interrupted his thoughts.

"There you are," came the call, and he turned and smiled dozily at his lover, who was bounding towards him.

"Seemed the safest place," Harry shrugged, not bothering to get up, "and the quietest."

"No time for quiet," Draco told him, holding out his hand and when Harry took it, dragging him to his feet, "we're going to London."

"London? Why do we want to go to London?" Harry objected, having been feeling comfortably at peace for the first time in a while.

"I have some papers to sign at Gringotts, we both need new suits and you need new robes for tomorrow (there's no way Jason can do them yet, so we have to go to Madam Malkins at the very least), and there was something about a wand as well," Draco rattled off the list and began pulling Harry towards the castle, finishing with, "Come on, we're flooing to Gringotts, they're expecting us in five minutes."

Harry didn't argue, there was no point arguing when Draco had a plan, and the mention of a wand had gained his attention and a little approval anyway: he held out little hope of finding his original wand, which had been missing since their capture, and it would be good to have a replacement.

"Here, you'll need these," Draco held out a pair of sunglasses.

"What for?" Harry snorted, taking them anyway, but rather disdainful of the pop star accessories.

"Unless you want to freak out any muggle we might see, put them on," Draco instructed curtly, clearly short of temper as well as time.

Harry slid the glasses on his nose, remembering for the umpteenth time since the orb ceremony that his eyes would be sparking silver. They were very dramatic, and he was coming round to liking the effect of the silver on the deep green of his irises, but he still kept forgetting. At least the feel of the spectacles on his face was something familiar, even if they did only turn the world into shades of brown.

* * *

Gringotts had not changed in three years, and Harry pulled off his sunglasses and took his time looking around at the old place when he stepped out of the huge fireplace into the main chamber. Draco immediately accosted a goblin and looked like he was about to be shown off to the back of the room where private offices stood. Harry moved to follow, but Draco turned to him and held out the same battered newspaper they had been reading at breakfast and told him, "I shouldn't be long."

Being shut out so completely stunned Harry, and he just took the newspaper, which Draco accepted as an affirmative. Then his lover turned and followed the attentive goblin; Harry watched his back all the way to an office, and then blinked as the door was slammed shut. Feeling a little chilly, Harry plodded over to a collection of seats against one wall and plonked himself in one of them. Then, realising that several customers were looking at him in the fascinated way of strangers who thought they knew him, Harry opened the paper and hid behind it.

He didn't really read the paper: he'd been through most of the content at breakfast, and it was just something over which his eyes moved until he turned to page nine. The paper was full of stories of the final battles before the fall of the death eaters, but the way Ron, and then Remus and then Minerva had chosen different pages from their first choice finally made sense to Harry. The headline read, 'Despot's Wife Under House Arrest'. There was no picture, but Harry rapidly began to read, 'Narcissa Malfoy is today under house arrest at Malfoy manner following a bloodless surrender of her staff. Her supporters suggest that there is some question as to her complicity in her husband, Lucius Malfoy's affairs since she has not been seen in public since the early days of the war...'

"Excuse me," a female voice interrupted Harry's train of thought.

He looked up at a nervous, but pretty face, which was smiling at him as its owner hopped from foot to foot.

"Yes?" Harry asked as politely as he could manage: he wanted to get back to the rest of the article.

"Excuse me, but you are Harry Potter, aren't you?" the young woman sounded like she was about to gush.

Harry was tempted to say no, but he had dealt with lots of fans before, and he knew that it would do no good.

"Yes I am," he replied, a thin, well-practised smile slipping in to place.

"I'm sorry, I've never done this before," the stranger began to gush as Harry had suspected she would, like a lot of female fans did, "but would you mind if I asked for your autograph?"

"Not at all," Harry lied, ingrained best behaviour beating everything else.

He then continued to smile politely at the woman until she remembered that she had to hand him the quill and paper she was holding. She giggled and went bright red when she realised, but Harry just took the offered items and scribbled his name. It was then he heard the footfalls of more people crossing the room towards him.

"Thank you, thank you so much," his fan sounded like breathing was an issue as she gasped and clutched the paper to her bosom.

Harry just smiled, and then gritted his teeth as the brave pioneer led the way for a dozen other awed people. The young celebrity stood up and smiled at his public, and was for once very glad of the glares from the goblins that kept excitement down to a minimum.

* * *

Harry's hand was aching and his fingers were black from badly handled quills by the time he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the door to the office open and Draco step out. He was still three deep in people, but he took the opportunity to give his apologies and make a break for his partner. Draco looked displeased when Harry headed over to him with his hangers-on hanging on, but Harry announced loudly, "All finished? Good, shall we get to our next appointment?"

Malfoy was a distinctly more imposing target than the familiar hero who was Harry Potter, and when silver-blue eyes glared at them, the fans hung back.

"Smile," Harry hissed as he finally made it to his lover's side, "this'll be in the papers tomorrow."

Instantly, Draco's courteous mask slipped in to place, he smiled, but something in the way he stood kept three feet between him and the semi-circle of fans. Harry, having had a lot more experience of the awe of the public, knew the standoff was not going to last, and when a few more people, who were clearly not bank customers, piled through the doors, expectant looks on their faces, he realised things could only get worse. He turned to Draco's escort and asked quietly, "Do you have a back way out of here?"

The wily goblin had clearly been coming to the same conclusion as Harry, and with a nod, began to lead them back to the office. It took only a few paces of retreat for the crowd to realise they were about to lose their precious contact with celebrity, and then the hoard was following. Harry quickened his pace and pushed his less experienced companion ahead of him. Their guide was almost bowled over as they skidded into his office, and then rapidly, Harry slammed the door.

"I leave you alone for five minutes and you cause a riot," Draco chided as the goblin tutted and headed to another door at the back of the room.

"Get used to it," Harry returned, not in the best of moods himself. "You're a good guy now, you can't scare them away anymore."

That comment shut Draco up, and Harry stalked after the goblin, wondering if London had been such a good idea.

* * *

The back door led out into an alley way, from which the couple headed back onto the main street of Diagon Alley in silence. Harry didn't really know why he was annoyed with Draco, it should have been the public with whom he was irked, but the wall Draco had thrown up around his financial life left Harry out in the cold, and so he found himself glaring at Draco's back as they walked rapidly towards Ollivander's. The shop was humming with magic, as before, and made Harry shiver, and this time, he found as he stepped inside that he couldn't stop. Draco had been ignoring him, much in the same way that Harry had been disdaining his lover, but when Draco turned and saw the look on Harry's face, he knew it was bad by the concern that greeted his shivering.

"Harry-Love, are you alright?" Draco asked, reaching out to him.

In the privacy of the little shop, Harry took the offered hand and shook his head.

"Don't know what it is, but I'm reacting to something," he answered truthfully, all snark forgotten as his voice wavered with the strange reaction.

"Please, come this way," Ollivander told them urgently, having arrived without Harry or Draco noticing, and they both jumped.

That didn't help Harry's shivering, and his heart skittered as well. The little man turned on his heel and beckoned over his shoulder with, "Come, come, Master Potter requires a chair."

Harry let himself be dragged into the now familiar little back room and slumped into the chair at which Draco aimed him, dropping his head between his knees as the world went round. Draco knelt next to him. Ollivander seemed concerned, but sure of himself as he advised, "Take deep breaths, Master Potter, you are having a temporary reaction to the ingredients in my shop. It should pass momentarily."

Harry had never had a reaction to anything before and it was all a bit perturbing, but with Ollivander's surety and Draco's attentiveness, he took heart and did as he was told. After a few breaths, the shaking did begin to ease and the faint he had thought was coming on did not materialise, so, still gasping in air, Harry sat back up. As he looked up, past the concern still in his partner, Harry saw Ollivander standing in front of his high table, arms crossed in front of him and a smile on his face.

"I was not expecting to see you again quite so quickly, Master Potter," he was told, and the shopkeeper walked up to him and stared at him with his unusual eyes. "However, your old wand would not have sufficed for long. Now, how do you feel?"

"Better, thank you," Harry breathed slowly, and squeezed the hand still in his when he gave Draco a reassuring smile.

"An unfortunate reaction, but not uncommon amongst those newly blessed with power such as yours," the old man continued, sounding like an authority on the matter, so Harry wasn't about to question him.

"How did you know?" Harry asked him not really expecting an answer.

Indeed, he did not receive a direct one.

"Some of us are blessed with rare skills," Ollivander replied, tapping his nose as if possibly he had smelt out the change that Dumbledore had suspected all along.

Harry had a suspicion it had more to do with what those unusual eyes could see, but he remained silent.

"Now, shall we begin?"

Harry took another breath, stood up and nodded, any left over giddiness disappearing in his eagerness to find a new wand.

* * *

They went all the way from birch and phoenix feather to oak and raven's wing and still the results showed no promise at all. Ollivander seemed certain that some type of bird would provide the core of the wand, but Fawkes, it appeared, was the only phoenix to whom Harry had reacted well. The wand maker had frowned furiously when oak and raven's wing had created no more than the shaking that had taken over Harry from time to time, and had walked back into his shop, muttering to himself. Harry had sat down and waited in silence, worried that nothing would match his new mixture of magic.

"He'll find it," Draco spoke softly from the position he had taken up leaning unobtrusively against a wall, and he was smiling when Harry glanced at him.

"I wish I had your confidence," Harry replied, closing his eyes and trying to make the trembling go away.

"You'll see," Draco returned, and also had his head tipped back and his eyes closed when Harry glanced at him.

Draco didn't move when Ollivander came bustling back in with another dozen boxes in his arms. Shaking himself, both mentally and physically, Harry stood up. The wand that came out of the next box was the same colour as the last, suggesting to Harry it was oak again, but the wood was a little longer, he thought. When his host laid the item across his arm and held the handle out, Harry was somewhat reluctant to take it. The power running through the shop had been distracting him during the last few tries, but this wand gained all his focus. He was nervous, and feeling foolish about it, but Harry couldn't shake the presence he felt around the wand.

"Good, good," Ollivander seemed encouraged by his reticence, which just made Harry more nervous.

However, good sense overcame instinct, and slowly, Harry reached out. As his fingers closed around the handle of the wand, a jolt of power ran up through Harry's arm and right down to his feet; he took a rapid step back, but did not let go of the finely crafted instrument in his palm, instead, he gripped it more firmly, and the lance of magic stopped. Taking himself in hand, Harry concentrated on what he was doing, and with a comfortable rush, the other way this time, sparks flew out of the end of the wand.

"Yes, yes!" Ollivander clapped his hands together and bounced excitedly. "Justice and wisdom, the oak and the owl's feather, perfect."

Harry heard what was said, but he did not really take it in, he was more interested in the extension to his arm that was throwing his magic out at the world. He'd never felt like this before, where the wand was such a complete part of him: maybe it was just the newness of this one.

"An excellent choice, Master Potter," Ollivander drew his attention by ducking under his gaze, and Harry blinked his way out of his daze. "May I suggest you stow the wand?"

Harry nodded stupidly and did as he was told.

"Thank you," Draco stepped in for him and Harry just watched as his partner reached for a pouch at his belt and continued, "shall we settle up?"

"You have already paid a thousand fold," Ollivander replied, placing his hands on Draco's and preventing the pouch from being unfastened. "It is an honour to be of service."

"Then, thank you again," Draco seemed genuinely surprised as he smiled in return.

"Yes, thank you," Harry managed to remember his manners.

Ollivander just nodded in his clipped way and then indicated to the door.

* * *

Being measured for suits and robes took nowhere near as long as choosing the wand, and Harry went through it with his mind half on the feel of the oak and owl between his fingers. Draco had confiscated the actual wand when Harry had begun to play it between his fingers in the tailor's, telling him that he had to learn some control before that kind of thing was safe, but the warm oneness stayed with him as he stood on a chair and let cloth be tweaked around him.

Finally, with promises of delivery first thing the next morning, the couple had flooed out of Diagon Alley and back to Hogwarts. Ron had then taken his best friend duties seriously and teased Harry for most of dinner about the lovelorn way he had looked at the wand, which he had insisted on bringing to the table with him even if Draco wouldn't let him touch it. Other friends did not take such a flippant approach to his reactions, in fact, Minerva seemed more than a little interested in them. As the evening drew to an end, and the group prepared to part, Minerva's interest had become a request for conversation. Draco had gone off with Severus, which had distracted Harry for a few moments as jealously had reared its ugly head again, but Minerva had soothed him, and strolling back towards the guest rooms, they had begun to talk.

"How are you coping with the new aspects to your magic?" Minerva began directly as she slipped her hand through Harry's offered arm.

"I haven't set a fire or anything like that today, so I think it's calming down," Harry replied, but continued honestly, "but Draco's right to be cautious about me playing with wands."

"Feels strange, does it?" his mentor asked, and smiled as she did so.

"Maybe it's just because it's different to my last wand," Harry shrugged, unwilling to burden his psyche with more differences.

"Possibly," the woman nodded, but her tone was not convincing.

"You don't think it is that, do you?" Harry stopped and turned to his companion to gauge her reaction more openly.

"We all react differently to many things," Minerva returned, patting him on the arm reassuringly, "and this is nothing to be concerned about. It may be due to some other aspect of the magic that you and Draco now share which reacts more closely with the wand than your human magic does. Has Draco not spoken of anything like this?"

"We didn't really have much time to concentrate on things like that when he got his," he disclosed, "but he did seem to enjoy using it."

"Talk to him about it," his friend suggested, and with another pat on his arm, began walking once more.

Harry resolved to do just that and, catching up with his companion in a couple of paces, placed her hand back into the crook of his arm.

"So, Min, are you looking forward to starting the school here again?" he decided to asked his own questions.

"Hogwarts has been tortured like the poor souls held captive within it," Minerva replied, her eyes suddenly damp as she looked about them, "and these walls need to see joy and laughter again. It will take time to make it suitable for schooling, but, yes, most certainly I am looking forward to teaching here once more."

"So's Draco," Harry caught himself smiling as he thought his lover in teaching robes. "I know he hasn't confirmed yet, but he's going to."

"Good, he needs to channel some of that energy he has into something constructive."

"Draco teaching Charms," Harry laughed and shook his head as the image failed to form correctly.

"It is no more improbable than you teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts," Minerva commented, and drew them to a halt again as Harry lost his sense of humour. "Do not dismiss it, Harry."

Harry regarded the concern in his companion and disquiet stirred inside him again. His pride and determination urged him to say no, to press on with the career he had chosen at fifteen, but the vulnerability that Voldemort had cultivated in him sided with the respite. Pride was winning at that moment, but the quandary remained.

"I will not press you, this is for you to decide not we oldies, as Tonks calls us. We may not know best," his friend backed off from the moment, looking away up the corridor down which they were proceeding. "Now, are you ready for tomorrow? You will probably be called upon to give an 'impromptu' speech."

"Speech?!" Harry objected, the future dwarfing in the presence of the immediate.

"Surely you did not think that the Saviours of Britain would be allowed to accept their medals and go and sit down?" Minerva smiled and patted his arm as, for the third time she placed her hand through the crook.

Half an hour later, Draco arrived at the smaller guest room in which they had been billeted to find Harry sat at a table trying to think of something sensible to say.


	78. Awards of the Unexpected

Harry hopped from foot to foot and glanced nervously up at the ceiling of the ante-chamber in which all the awardees had been gathered.

"Stand still," Hermione chided, tugging at and straightening his newly fitted Auror dress robes; Draco had been doing the same since he'd pulled all the smart clothing on that morning.

"Aren't you the least bit nervous?" Harry countered.

"Why do you think she's redressing you?" Ron replied, leaning on his neatly arranged shoulder, much to Hermione's chagrin. "I've been shuffled and straightened at least five times so far."

"Ron Weasley," Hermione began, her pout doing nothing to distract from the stunning way she had arranged her hair on top of her head.

"Calm down, Love," Ron wrapped his wife in his arms and kissed her on the nose.

"Now you're messing me up as well," she countered, breaking free and pulling at her own skirt. "Just because you two have no sense of presentation."

Ron and Harry looked at each other and grinned. Harry was just glad someone else was showing the same kind of nerves he was feeling.

"Well said, Hermione," Draco agreed coolly and turned from where he had been gazing out of a window.

If Hermione was stunning to Harry, Draco made the world dim away in comparison: his lover was dressed in Slytherin green, which offset the grey of his lightening-sparking eyes to perfection. However, those eyes showed Harry nothing but princely poise, and, although he could guess that his partner was as nervous as he was underneath the protective exterior, Harry had not been able to glean any comfort from such conjecture. The whole morning had been a rush of preparation for the ceremony that was now only minutes away, and there had been no chance for conversation, and, as much as he wanted to wrap his lover in his arms and work out some of the knots between his shoulder blades, the large number of people shuffling about the room kept Harry's hands by his sides. Draco had promised the previous evening that if there was a speech expected, then he would give it, but that had been the last bit of reassurance that had passed between the couple.

The bickering would have continued, but there was a loud thumping of wood on tile that brought the whole room to silence. The fattest wizard Harry had ever seen was stood by the main doors to the Ministry hall, and a staff with an equally fat jewel at its head was what had made the noise.

"Please assemble into your allotted order," he called and people instantly began to shuffle into the rankings on which the Ministry had decided.

That meant Harry and Draco had to move from the side to the front of the room, since they were heading the procession. A path cleared for them as Draco swept through the company, followed by the trio of Gryffindors. Remus was already there with Tonks, Ginny and Dean when they made it through the crowd, and they were greeted with a smile. Harry managed a thin smile back, but then allowed himself to be distracted by movement to their left, at which his smile disappeared as he recognised Severus Snape. The small team that had raided Askaban and planted the moving potion were all being awarded Orders of Merlin First Class, as of course were Harry and Draco, and then there were others who had equally distinguished themselves during the liberating of Britain. Then came those with second and third class awards of the same calibre, and then many more in decreasing ranks. Harry hadn't really taken much notice of anyone in the room, he was too nervous, and he turned his back on the sea of faces that were forming up into two lines behind him.

Draco was at the head of one line, Harry at the other, and Harry glanced across as the stout Master of Ceremonies turned to the great doors that would open on the gathered finery of Britain and her honoured guests, plus the wizarding world's press: Draco did not look back, his gaze was fixed on those doors, and his profile gave nothing away. Feeling lonely, Harry steeled himself and followed his partner's example. However, he was not prepared for the view he was given when, with a ceremonial knock of jewel on wood, the grand doors were thrown open; two ranks of the great and the good were stood in their rows of seating, leaving an aisle that took the eye up towards the same stone dais on which Harry had last seen Lucius Malfoy standing. Amelia Bones was nothing like the Governor General, but that did not stop Harry's knees from going weak as he involuntarily recalled the hostile and damning reception he had received only weeks earlier.

Harry wasn't aware he let out any sound, but a hand touched his arm and he started and stared openly at Draco, who looked back, concern in his gaze.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked quietly as an orchestra struck up a rousing tune.

Harry swallowed hard, looked back at the large room, singled out Amelia as the most obvious difference and forced his mind away from the brainstorm that was threatening. He didn't look back, but he nodded and his arm was released. The Master of Ceremonies looked like he was about to burst, and was waving them on frantically, so Harry took a step in time with the march being played. Draco was close by his side, and together, the couple entered the ceremony.

* * *

Harry wasn't asleep, he was too nervous to sleep, but he had found a comfortable state between waking and sleeping that meant he didn't have to follow the speeches that had seemed to take hours, nor the long list of awards which, starting at the lowest first, took even longer. It was stuffy in the large hall, and his robes were heavy, and Harry would rather have been sitting by the lake at Hogwarts. However, he was clapping in all the right places, which was after each group of awards, and he had noted that the Orders of Merlin First Class had begun. He'd only started to take real notice when Hermione had stepped up for her award, and he almost clapped out of place as his pride for his long-time friend had swelled when her many achievements had been listed. Then had come all the other raiders, culminating in Remus Lupin. Harry had gladly clapped then for all those who had deserved the highest honour the wizarding world could bestow.

When Remus had left the dais, silence had fallen and Harry's heart had entered his throat. Amelia Bones stood behind her lectern, and gazed out at the gathered company and began, "Finally today, we honour two young men whose bravery and selflessness has given Britain freedom from the worst evil she has ever seen. Ladies and Gentlemen, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy."

There wasn't supposed to be clapping yet, everyone was supposed to wait until after the awards had been made, but the whole room broke into thunderous applause. Harry glanced at his partner, who was sat in the front row across the aisle from him, and was this time given a glance which spoke volumes. His lover's eyes were sparkling with more than magical lightening, and there was something near disbelief in Draco's face as, together, the pair stood up. When they moved into view, one either side of the dais as they had been instructed, the thunder became painful on the ears, and even Madame Bones was clapping as she smiled from one to the other. The large woman stepped out from behind the lectern and, his movements on automatic as his brain processed the incredible gratitude all around him, Harry began to walk towards her. Shoulder to shoulder, Draco and Harry stopped on the step in front of Amelia, and she smiled down at them while raising her hand for silence.

The applause did not abate quickly, but Amelia stood firm, her hand raised until the last clap had died away. Only then did the ceremony continue. Two porters, who had been supplying the awards and medals all afternoon, appeared one either side of her, and she reached first into a plush box in front of Draco. An Order of Merlin was a very special award: it could take several forms, a plaque, a trophy or a medal dependant on the requirements of the time, but that was only a superficial speciality. Harry's senses were already on overdrive, and the magic that came out of the box at him nearly made him take a step backwards. There were layers and layers of spells on the award, which was at the moment in the shape of a medal, and Harry fixated on it when he refused himself the step backwards. The medal was small and similar to his Grandfather's army medals that Uncle Vernon had kept in the display cabinet in the lounge, but its ribbon was iridescent. Harry could not put his finger on what colours mixed on the banding, he was only sure that he would be able to tell it from the second and third class medals. He could not see the medallion itself very clearly, since it was resting in Amelia's hand, but he knew it held an image of the mystical Merlin himself. Harry watched in awe as Madame Bones reverently pinned the medal to Draco's chest, and then he felt them, the layers of magic, spreading out over his lover, who took in a few sharp breaths himself as the complex spells locked the medal to its owner.

Harry was so intent on Draco and the settling magic, that he was almost taken by surprise when a medal appeared under his nose. He steadied himself just before Amelia pinned the award on him, but he was not prepared for the waved of magic first hand. Merlin himself had devised this award, and the spells that went with it, and Harry was sure that no-one could take this honour away from him without heavy duty revocation. He smiled to himself. That smile grew wider as, as soon as the audience had noted the awards had been given, the applause started up again. The thunder spread quickly round the room, joining with cheers, and Harry would have turned then and accepted the warmth that came from behind. However, Amelia held her hands out to both young men in such a way that they knew they had to stay put, and then she raised her hands to the crowd. Harry glanced at his lover again, not sure what was happening now, and the look he received back held similar sentiment.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Amelia addressed the assembled company as the noise died down, "please be seated a while longer."

There was the shuffling of chairs and feet as what Harry realised had been a standing ovation was muted back to expectant watching.

"Harry, Draco," Amelia then drew the couple's attention and Harry look up at her, "your service to this country has been beyond any that should be expected of any person. Therefore, it has been decided by this nation that her reward to you should be beyond that expected."

Two more porters replaced their fellows, and they were holding two more boxes.

"Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, this nation grants you The Freedom of the Kingdom."

A gasp ran round the room and Harry wished once more that he had grown up in the wizarding world, because, although he could guess the significance of such a reward, he had no idea what it actually meant. From the way Draco was looking up at Amelia open-mouthed and paler than even was usual for him, Harry knew that this was big, really big. As before, Amelia turned to her left and reached into the box beside Draco first, and Harry was all eyes. What he saw was a tiny golden key, maybe an inch in size on a delicate black ribbon, what he felt was something far larger.

"Draco Malfoy, this key grants you access to any hearth in the United Kingdom of Great Britain, do you accept this responsibility?" Amelia charged as she held out the key to him.

"I accept," Draco replied, the awe in his voice unmistakable.

Harry was half ready to catch his lover as he felt the weight of the magic that went with the delicate little object, but Draco stood firm as he bowed his head and the ribbon was placed around his neck. Harry was certain that the oath Draco had just made had binding and lifelong significance and he shivered. He continued to tremble as Amelia reached for the box beside him. The key was held out to him, and Harry watched it glint in the Autumn sunshine that was pouring through the window. This was for him, just for him, and he did not so much hear Amelia's words as he did feel them as magic reached out from its tiny representation.

"Harry Potter, this key grants you access to any hearth in the United Kingdom of Great Britain, do you accept this responsibility?"

Harry's heart thundered in his ears and he hesitated a moment, knowing he did not fully understand this award. The magic around him was austere, important, and when Harry answered it, he spoke with his whole being, "I accept."

He bowed his head, and he felt the bargain seal as the ribbon settled on the back of his neck. He was trembling again, visibly to those close to him, and as rapturous applause began for the third time, Amelia asked, "Are you alright, Harry, Draco?"

The fact that his partner was also adversely affected made Harry turn, and reach out. Draco did the same, and the two young men came to a halt, hands on each other's shoulders. That seemed to please the crowd even more, and the high-pitched clapping was joined by the sound of feet on wood. Cruciatus had disconnected him from the overwhelming emotion in this room once before, and now the unexpected magic of the key did the same once more. Harry let go of Draco reluctantly, but followed a gentle touch on his shoulder which turned him fully towards his adoring public and he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. The room was large, he had known that, it was also crowded, another fact that had not escaped Harry when he had led the procession in. However, the sheer joy before him took Harry's breath away. It didn't matter that he did not know the minutiae of the responsibility he had just been given, he knew it meant the trust of this nation, and he just stared at her representatives.

* * *

There had been a speech, Draco had managed to come up with some words, and Harry had added what could have been a few grunts in the right places as far as he could remember. That had been followed by another standing ovation, which had lasted forever in Harry's dazed mind, and then he and Draco had led the procession of awardees back out of the state room. Harry had come to when Ron had almost squeezed him to death, and then there had been too many people to count patting him on the back and shaking his hand. The awardees had not been left in their anteroom for long, however, they had all been whisked off to several separate soirées depending on the rank and type of their awards. All the orders of Merlin were led to the grandest of the events, at which point, both Harry and Draco gained themselves officials, Percy in Harry's case and someone whose face Harry knew, but whose name escaped him, for Draco, and, much to Harry's chagrin, he was whisked off in a different direction to his partner before he had even had a chance to talk to him about the freedom awards.

"Where are we going?" he demanded tartly of Percy, who had a hand under his elbow and was steering him through the crowd of dignitaries and invited press.

"You have people to meet," Percy replied in a tone Harry recognised as 'do as your told, you can yell at me later'.

"But I wanted to spend some time with Draco," Harry objected, habit keeping him moving anyway.

"Draco has his own people to see," Percy countered, a fixed smile on his face as they moved past and he nodded to the happy faces all around.

"Why can't we see all of them together?" Harry maintained his objection, but he'd lost sight of his lover already and his heart was sinking.

"Too many," his escort replied, "we had to divide them into groups."

"What if I just want to find a corner and hide?" Harry's resilience in the face of bureaucracy was considerable.

However, Percy was very efficient, and clearly ignoring such objections. Harry found a glass placed in his hand as they walked past a waiter with a tray of them, and then there was no more time for objections, because Percy planted him in front of a lofty, middle-aged wizard who was wearing so many ruffles he could have passed as a cream cake, and introduced, "Harry Potter, allow me to introduce Minister Aardran of Belgium."

Harry nodded politely, smiled and prepared for the long haul.

* * *

Harry had met three European Ministers of Magic and a couple of minor princes whose names he had forgotten, all with their press people and hangers on, by the time conversation grew a little easier. Percy swept him away from a particularly boring conversation about magic quotas and into a group of people who were standing with someone he recognised, the American Ambassador. Harry had met Maxine Strongblood before she had been taken up the post of ambassador, and he had known then she was on her way up.

"Harry, how lovely to see you again," the woman greeted in a lovely Deep South accent that made Harry think of chocolate.

"Madame Ambassador," Harry greeted, shaking an offered hand.

"Please, we know each other better than that, call me Maxine," he was told, and then she turned to his aide and requested, "Percy, it's been too long, would you be a dear and fetch me another glass of wine, that nice '91 if they have any left?"

The good official did as he was told and disappeared with Maxine's glass. As soon as he was gone, the woman laid a hand on Harry's arm and told him, "That should keep him busy for a while, there is no '91."

Harry laughed and so the rest of the small group giggled as well.

"Excuse us, Ladies and Gentlemen," Maxine took charge again, "but I must have a private word with my good friend."

Harry then found another hand under his elbow, but he went much more willingly with Maxine than he had with Percy. The woman leant in close as they crossed to a quieter part of the room by a wall, and told him, "Congratulations, My Dear, those awards are long overdue."

Harry glanced down at the medal and key for the umpteenth time, and allowed himself a small burst of pride at their significance. He smiled at Maxine, but could not think of anything to say to accept the praise, so he just waited. He had only met the Ambassador a couple of times, but on both occasions he had been in no doubt that she always had an agenda, and he knew she had a reason for dismissing Percy.

"Now, Harry," Maxine did indeed begin in a low voice, "I have been speaking to my people, and they and I believe that you are wasted by your superiors. We have a proposition for you. How would you feel about a secondment to the Auror Bureau of the United States of America?"

Harry took a hasty gulp of wine and used it to think hard about his companion's suggestion. His instant response was a no, he did not want to leave Britain again for a long while, but he knew that such direct responses did not always work well with politicians, so he at least made it look like he was considering the option when in fact he was thinking how best to phrase a 'no'.

"Thank you for the offer, Maxine," Harry began slowly. "It sounds like a wonderful opportunity."

"I hear a 'but' coming," the Ambassador smiled and wagged her finger, and then she held up her hand and continued, "Before you give me a firm answer, let me persuade you a little more."

Harry shut his mouth and fixed his smile: this was going to be a long no.

"We are prepared to offer considerable incentives to have you as part of our team," Maxine continued, unaware that Harry had turned off the moment she began.

Harry smiled and watched the point between his companion's eyebrows, waiting for her to pause and take a breath so he could politely refuse. There was mention of accommodation and working hours and conditions, but Harry wasn't interested.

"...and if the problem is you don't want to leave your sweetheart behind, of course we can come to some arrangement," Harry started listening again at the mention of Draco.

Maxine noted his sudden change, and her smile widened as she hooked on to his new interest with, "I see by the look in your eyes that you would appreciate our consideration in this matter," Maxine winked and patted his arm. "And may I say you make a lovely couple."

Harry hadn't been expecting anyone to say anything about his relationship with Draco, let alone speak of it so easily, and so he took the compliment with a surprised smile. He still wasn't going to say yes to an American secondment, but he was coming round to liking Maxine more and more.

"You and she will make the handsomest couple...," Maxine kept talking, but Harry's short-lived pleasure exploded into alarm.

"She?!" he asked, a little louder than he intended and drew interest from those nearby; he dropped his voice and asked, "Who are you talking about, Maxine?"

"Why, that lovely young Miss Weasley," Maxine answered, her smile faltering for only a second as Harry's alarm registered with her.

"Ginny?" Harry checked, his mind flying back to the newspaper reading at breakfast.

"Am I to understand that I have been misled on this account?" the woman answered with her own question, and Harry saw interest appear in her gaze.

"Who told you I was seeing Ginny?" Harry asked directly, all diplomacy evaporating as his suspicions about the motives behind the report began to grow dark.

"Why, I do believe the subject came up in a conversation I was having with Minister Fudge," Maxine answered, and instantly, Harry saw red.

He managed to hold onto his temper long enough not to yell at the ambassador, and he told her, "Please excuse me, Maxine, I must have a word with Minister Fudge."

Harry was planning more than a word with the devious politician. There was no doubt in his mind that Fudge had begun the rumour about he and Ginny, and the deception was the last straw. He had promised Minerva and Albus that he would avoid Fudge and be civil if he absolutely had to, but all such oaths flew out of the window. It was time Fudge had a few home truths from Harry Potter.

Harry had his hand on his sleeve, mad enough to pull his wand, and the floor cleared in front of him as he headed through the crowd, stalking his quarry. The people cleared enough that as he strode past a tight group of officials, he heard, "Harry?" It was Draco, but Harry was on a mission for his temper, and he did not pause: he'd last caught sight of Fudge about half an hour ago, and it was in the direction he was now charging. Harry growled and spun on the owner as hand was laid on his arm; he came up short when he found himself face to face with a concerned lover.

"Harry, what's the matter?" Draco asked in a whisper, but that didn't stop half the room trying to listen in.

"Fudge: he's the one who's been trying to say Ginny and I are together," Harry snarled back, not caring who was listening. "I'm going to knock his block off, homophobic prat."

People heard that comment if their gasps were anything to go by, but Harry's temper had taken over and the only reason he was seething in place was because Draco had a firm hold on his sleeve.

"Do you want to be brought up on charges?" Draco countered still very quietly, far too sensibly for Harry's liking.

"If that's what it takes," Harry responded hotly, the delay only feeding his fire.

"I have a better idea," Draco surprised him, and the steam in front of his vision cleared just enough for him to realise that his lover was equally annoyed, he was just holding it better.

Draco's gaze was fiery, and Harry recognised the anarchy underneath his partner's poised exterior. He wasn't sure he wanted to drop his plan, seeing Fudge in a gibbering heap would have been very gratifying. However, the way Draco was looking at him intrigued Harry, and so he asked, "What is it?"

"Mind coming out of the closet?" Draco stepped in to Harry's body and whispered, barely audible against the murmuring that had begun around them.

Harry didn't mind at all, in fact his inhibitions were non-existent when compared with his anger at Fudge's deception. He smiled his consent at Draco and was told, "Now this _will_ be in the papers tomorrow."

Harry was more than ready when lips met his, and he channelled all the aggression he had been ready to aim at Fudge into the kiss. His pent up emotions made the embrace rather emphatic, and Draco gave back all he received. The amount of gasping and talk and camera flashes that were going on around them made it difficult for Harry to completely disconnect from reality as he would have preferred, but the sense of right that settled round him, as he displayed his deep passion for his lover, tempered any inhibitions his fury had left him. Draco was his, he was Draco's, and the statement he was making ran hotter through Harry than any kink or game.

It was Draco who broke the embrace, more to gasp in some air than from the commotion around them, and the couple held together, even as their lips parted. Harry looked into his lover's eyes, and the satisfied smile on his face, and the joy bubbled up inside him: Harry threw back his head and laughed.

* * *

Harry was more than happy with the result of the tryst. He and Draco had caused momentary chaos, where press had lost interest totally in the great and the good in the room, and had focused completely on the couple making out in their midst. The only reporter apparently completely disinterested had been Luna Lovegood, whose paper, Harry had discovered once the hubbub had died down, had been printing the tale of his and Draco's love affair since before they had escaped from Hogwarts together. Percy had been a good little official and whisked the couple away to a private room before too many intimate questions could be asked, but Harry had been very satisfied to hear that Minister Fudge was having apoplexy about the revelation.

Harry didn't pay much attention to what happened for the rest of the soiree. When Percy had tried to separate he and Draco in a vain attempt to continue the prescheduled tour of the room, the official had been met with a blunt refusal, and then a compromise of allowing the couple to re-enter the party together had more or less been forced through by Draco. Harry would quite happily have sat in the side room and left the party to go on without him, but Draco had other ideas about what he referred to as 'networking', so Harry allowed himself to be dragged back into the gathering.

The tryst had done little to improve the conversation: most of the officials stuck doggedly to polite chit chat, only a few even risking a mention of the way Harry and Draco were variably holding hands, hanging off each other, or generally being very obvious. Harry spent most of his time letting Draco do the talking and letting his eyes wander around the room.

He spotted Remus, Tonks by his side, in deep conversation with a group of people Harry did not recognise. He actually asked Percy as they were travelling between groups of people who the huddle was, and was informed that they were a delegation of representatives campaigning for greater rights for magical creatures. Ron was easy to spot, being a redhead above most of the room, and seemed to be travelling around in a free arc, probably, Harry guessed, led by Hermione: they had shared a bored look when in close enough proximity. Everyone else popped up from time to time, including Albus and Minerva, who had little to say on the public display while still in public, but Harry thought he was going to get a lecture from Minerva when they were back at Hogwarts.

All in all, the rest of the evening was uneventful: the press kept taking pictures, the guests continued pointless conversations and Harry stayed bored. He was therefore glad when Percy finally led him out of the room. When people had discovered that the sensation of the evening was leaving, there had been no end of hands to shake and goodbyes to say, and Harry was still trying to extricate his hand from one such dismissal as he stepped through the door. The large wooden panel blocked off the final few flashes from cameras, and then Harry leant against it and sighed his relief.

Draco instantly took advantage and made Harry the filling in a door and Draco sandwich. Percy averted his eyes and looked uncomfortable, and Harry was more than happy to tease his pet official and indulge his libido at the same time, so he sighed again and then planted a peck on Draco's nose.

"Don't sound so non-plussed, we made some good contacts tonight" Draco countered the weariness that was in fact completely genuine.

"You made some good contacts," Harry corrected, "I don't even remember any names. Percy normally does all that, don't you Percy."

The Weasley who had broken the mould did not look happy at being included in the conversation: he was clearly not at all happy about the easy way Draco and Harry were sharing affection. Harry persisted a little longer, smiling and stroking Draco's arm, but Percy's ever reddening face was enough distraction that eventually Harry eased himself out of the embrace. He settled for grabbing Draco's hand and then offered some relief to his aide with, "I need some space, and since you're the local, Percy, please, lead the way to where you think best."

The biggest open space in the building without going outside, which Percy resisted, was the atrium and so Harry settled for a stroll down the long room of fireplaces. He was now familiar with this place, having been to and from the Ministry many times before the war had displaced his side. However, the décor had changed since before the conflict. The fountain of magical brethren was still in its usual place, however, now, slightly further down the hall in place of one of the entrance hearths was another statue that Harry recognised: he had seen it every day when crossing the quad on the British base, the war memorial. The sight rather brought the reasons behind the awards home to Harry, and he thought of all the people who could not have a medal pinned to their chests as he walked quickly up to the fat obelisk. He ran his hand over the carved marble and took a moment to remember the fallen behind the celebrations.

Harry wasn't exactly sad as he looked at the countless names which had thankfully ceased to move and make room: he was angry that so many had fallen due to others' incompetence, and he was also proud of them. As he gazed at the record, Harry vowed never to let the wizarding world forget the horrors that their complacency over Voldemort had created. He ran his eyes over every name, not reading, but absorbing the sheer number, from top to bottom and on each face of the four-sided obelisk until he came to the final list at the front. Harry didn't intend to read any name here either, however, as he ran his gaze over the last column on the right of the plaque, Harry's reverence and contemplation was brought to an abrupt halt by shock. He read the list again, and again, not sure he had read the name right, but a fourth check made sure that it was correct. One of the names in that final column on the black marble read, 'Harry Potter.'

"Harry Potter?" Harry turned on Percy and Draco and pointing furiously repeated, "Harry Potter: what am I doing on the war memorial."

Percy's face said he'd known the name was there, but that he didn't know how to answer.

"'In Memory of those who died in service of their country'" Harry quoted, pointing at the words above the names this time, and he argued desperately, "I'm not dead. Why am I on there?!"

Percy was at a loss, but Draco laid a soothing hand on Harry's shoulder and told him, "Technically, you did die in service of your country, Harry-Love."

"But I'm alive now, why am I still on there?" Harry turned on Draco, knowing he was overreacting, but not being able to stall the strange panic in his belly.

"I don't suppose the spell can cope with resurrection," Draco continued calmly.

Harry was anything but calm: the dream of dying had plagued him the previous night once more, and to have it underlined by his name on a memorial to the dead just made all the terrifying memories come to the surface.

"I want that erased," Harry gabbled, trying to be angry, but failing with hysteria.

"I don't think it can be," Percy shrugged, clearly not aware of the storm building in his charge.

"I'm not dead," Harry repeated, more to himself than his companions. "I'm not dead."

Without so much wine, or exhaustion, Harry might have been able to make more sense of his emotions, but the fear at the base of his soul took control and the young wizard had no hope of stalling it.

"You're alive, Harry-Love," Draco told him firmly, still sounding absurdly calm.

Harry didn't want calm, he wanted someone to understand the panic that was inside, and he broke away, muttering, "I have to leave."

He walked towards one of the fireplaces, no more plan than to floo anywhere but the atrium. However, his magic was running ahead of him, and semi-inebriation meant Harry was not in control, his panic was. Flames leapt out of the grate to which he was heading, and Harry stumbled backwards. The shock brought him up short, and he ended up staring at where the fire had scorched the floor, not really knowing what to do.

"Harry-Love?" Draco remained effortlessly calm, and his hand in Harry's this time soothed the tempest inside.

Harry glanced at his lover, looking for reassurance as the panic ran itself out like the flash fire he had just witnessed. The emotions left in its wake were confused and worrying, but Harry took a large breath and let his heartbeat slow as he was faced with Draco's surety.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked directly.

"Oddest brainstorm yet," Harry shrugged, pushing away the last of the panic in a shiver.

"Let's get out of here," his lover suggested.

Harry just nodded.


	79. Facing the Future

Breakfast was when Harry received the lecture he had been expecting from Minerva. He had not slept well, hardly at all in fact, and when he slumped into a seat, Minerva may have been frowning at him, but it was Hermione who started with, "Morning, Harry, Draco. Are you feeling alright, Harry?"

"Slept badly, must have been the booze," Harry lied, not wanting to go over the details of the nightmares which had disturbed both his and Draco's sleep.

Draco did not appear happy with the deceit, but he did not have opportunity to comment as Minerva began, "Then maybe you should reconsidering drinking when in public, Harry."

The prophet landed on his plate, and Harry looked down at the picture and headline. The photo, as expected, was he and Draco in the middle of their smooch, repeating a particularly hot part of it as far as Harry was concerned, and the headline read, 'Dark and Light Make Shades of Grey'. Harry grinned to himself, but did not bother to read any further, he just told his friends, "I wasn't even tipsy then."

"You made a complete spectacle of yourselves," Professor McGonagall launched, "apparently with not even the excuse of inebriation."

"That was rather the idea," Draco returned nonchalantly, glancing at the article, but then passing it to Tonks on his left.

"It was hardly the place," Minerva countered. "You turned a dignified celebration into a circus."

"Only for a few minutes," Harry objected to the lecture, even though he had known it was coming, "and Fudge deserved it for lying."

"Lying?" his mentor repeated, the mention of Fudge causing at least a pause in her flow.

"Yes, it was him who spread the rumours about Ginny and me," Harry snarled, his temper rising as he recalled his need to do damage, "Maxine Strongblood told me. And if Draco hadn't stopped me, I'd have done worse than make a spectacle of myself."

At that admission, his friend seemed torn between her sense of decorum and her sense of fair play, because she took a little longer to respond. The rest of the table seemed aware the dialogue was important and were saying nothing.

"I can understand your feelings at such deception," Minerva began carefully once more, "but there are better ways to express displeasure than either threatening behaviour or throwing restraint to the wind."

"Yeah, right, and Fudge would have stopped lying if I'd just asked nicely," Harry snapped, his temper fraying.

Minerva pursed her lips, but said no more. The silence would have grown awkward had it not been for a sudden influx of owls into the room, and the fluttering distracting everyone. Harry picked the first letter that was dropped on his, thankfully, empty plate, but he hadn't even had a chance to examine it before a second landed in its place, and then a third and then a flurry until Harry couldn't see his plate anymore.

"Goodness, who let the owls in?" Hermione objected, as Draco and, to Harry's surprise, Remus gained similar piles. "They should have been corralled."

"Why corralled?" Harry asked, trying to find his plate.

"So this didn't happen," Hermione replied. "Mail's been arriving like this for days and the house elves have been sorting it. I think you have the most so far."

"No one mentioned post," Harry spoke what he thought, not sure if he was suspicious of the omission or not.

"Until it is sorted, it is of little relevance," Albus cut in, gazing serenely over his spectacles at Harry, "and I believed you would rather not be disturbed by it."

Harry sat on the urge to be angry, only just, by settling for peeved, and he objected, "Well, someone could have at least mentioned it."

"We just forgot," Draco patted his leg and assured, inadvertently revealing that Harry was the only one who hadn't known.

At that point, house elves began appearing, apologising, gathering up letters and parcels and heading off any more owls. Harry concentrated on filling a sack that an attentive elf held out, and then, when he turned back to his plate, his stomach distracted him from any left over frustration at being left out.

* * *

Lecture over and letters gone, breakfast continued in a better vein. The buffet at the Ministry had been too fancy and not very substantial as far as Harry was concerned, and he dug into a full English with enthusiasm. Conversation was light, and Harry let the world go by until Tonks asked the question, "So, what's everyone doing today?"

Albus and Minerva disclosed that they would be dealing with paperwork for the reopening of Hogwarts as a school. Remus was back off to the Ministry for discussions about magical creature rights; Tonks was going with him. Hermione was taking the twins to visit their Grandparents, both sets. Draco was vague, mentioning possible formalities to do with the Malfoy estate. And variations of 'sweeping the castle' came from most other directions. However, when Harry threw in his own version of said activity, Ron was there first with, "Oh no you're not."

"But I have a wand now," Harry countered, waving the said item and causing some of his closer companions to duck.

"And you're more likely to blow a hole in a wall with it than clear a booby trap," Ron continued bluntly, watching the tip of the oak carefully.

The comment was meant to be a jovial home truth, but Harry had had about as much mollycoddling as he could take, and he saw red, "I am not some magical cripple!"

He stood up, throwing his chair over as his temper got the better of him, and then headed rapidly for the door. His name came after him from several sources, Draco included, but Harry ignored them all. He also tried to ignore the reasons he wanted to be busy doing practical things, but he couldn't quite escape the thought that he was avoiding making a decision on the job offer. That little guilt made him frosty and prickly, and when he heard footsteps following after him into the entrance hall, he spun on his heel. Draco came to a halt as Harry glared at him, his manner uncertain.

"Go away," Harry told him firmly, very sure he did not want company, and then he turned and continued on his way.

Harry wasn't exactly sure where he was intending on going: he didn't want to go outside, it would be admitting the others were right, that he wasn't safe to be in the building, yet Harry didn't want to charge off into the castle either. The current quandary was only one of many in his life at that moment, but it slowed him down enough that he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry-Love," Draco tried again, "we're concerned about you."

Harry didn't want concern or condescension, he was too angry, so he shrugged off the hold and turned on Draco again. He snarled, "I don't need help, I'm not some wreck."

"Yes you are," his lover shocked Harry when he spoke directly.

Harry backed off, not believing what he was hearing: how could his partner be so hurtful?

"We're both broken, Harry," Draco continued, anger in his voice as well, "and only time is going to fix what can be mended. You - we have to be patient."

Harry had heard those words before when he had sat in a hospital bed waiting for first his strength and then his freedom, and he did not want that again. The reasoning just took him further from logic and he countered, "I've had enough of waiting. I want to get on with things."

"Then start by being honest with yourself and your friends," Draco argued, and took Harry by surprise again. "You lied to everyone in there when you blamed alcohol for not sleeping last night," his lover charged loudly. "Try accepting the fact that you wake screaming every night and what that means. Think about why you're unsure on the teaching job. Face the future, Harry."

"I am!" Harry yelled back. "I'm not the one shutting others out when it comes to anything to do with my family."

That hit a nerve, and Harry saw Draco flare at the accusation. He was feeling vulnerable and hurt, so he dug at the wound he had made with, "You're a one to talk about honesty, wheeling and dealing to secure the future of a mother you can't even talk to."

"Leave my mother out of this, this is about you," Draco growled, clearly smarting.

"No, this is about us," Harry screamed, putting all his pent up frustration behind it.

"Stop being so irrational," Draco yelled back, sounding fairly irrational himself. "People are doing nothing but trying to help you, and all you can do is yell and complain. You can't handle real life. You're a mess, face it!"

Harry took several steps backwards at the accusation, winded by the fury in his partner. He had no denial for such plain, enraged truth, and his fight evaporated into shock. Harry was not prepared for the overwhelming vulnerability with which the fight left him, and he did something he had never done before, he ran; Harry turned away from the fight, away from the harsh truths and his hostile lover, and he headed for the nearest exit, which happened to be the stairs up to the next floor. Draco did not follow.

* * *

Harry stood like a statue in the centre of the room, his gaze fixed ahead, frozen. He had run from Draco in denial, but that emotion had only lasted long enough to take him into more characteristic defiance. Harry had come to a halt in the corridor above the hall, alone and hurting, but he had known where his pain originated. He had given himself no room for doubt on this matter, and his need had taken him straight up to this place, his torture chamber. Draco had been right, he needed to come here to face the demons that had broken him and repeatedly plagued his dreams. Yet, now he was here in the place where his nightmares had truly begun, emotion seemed to have left Harry in the lurch, his eyes focused on nothing and his brain refused to process any thoughts about his captivity. Thus, he was stuck in another quandary, unable to conceive even enough cohesion of thought to flee again.

Harry blinked, and his eyes told him how long he had held them open as they demanded moisture; he had to break the standoff between the stubborn denial that had kept him going throughout this fight, and his need to answer his dark memories. Harry felt the emotion begin in his chest as a tight ball: he wasn't sure what it was at first, but as he concentrated on it, he recognised rage. The feeling was the easiest of those he had been harbouring since Draco had yelled at him, and he let it grow again, slowly at first as he reached almost leisurely for his wand. Then it came out.

"Difflo!" Harry yelled, and chose a particularly gruesome-looking, unidentifiable torture device which hung above the fire place.

The metal split with a satisfying whine, and the young man smiled grimly to himself as he watched it crash onto the floor: he certainly had control of his magic now, destruction was easy. He scanned the room again, knowing what he had to do now, and looking for targets for his hatred; his eyes came to rest on the heavy wooden chair to which he had first been bound and felt his torturer's power.

"Dissido!" he demanded, his shout revealing a little of the horror behind his anger.

Harry refused to flinch as part of him wanted. He just narrowed his eyes in what he thought was appreciation as the front legs of the chair exploded into dust and the whole object fell forward, collapsing into pieces. The first source of his torment was gone, but Harry did not pause to look at it too long: his rage needed targets to keep it going, so he looked further, risking more memories.

The whip that had been across his back once too often appeared in his sights, hanging from a hook on the wall where Brutus had to have left the favourite toy. It suffered the banishing charm as the remembered pain of a strike made Harry shiver. He growled under his breath when it had gone: he had power over these things now, he could beat them. Yet, as he quickly sought another quarry, Harry faced two devices that had brought him to his lowest ebb. The lead that had pulled him from pillar to post sent cascades of ice down Harry's back, and his rage faltered a moment, letting through the more difficult emotions below it. That wouldn't do, so, without thinking about it, Harry threw the banishing charm once more. The lead did indeed disappear, sent away to Merlin knew where, away from him, but the self-loathing and fear it had generated would not disperse so quickly. Harry clung on to control of his emotions and of his magic by concentrating on the object on which the lead had been lying: the thick-planked table which had seen him go all the way down to Voldemort's lowest level stood only feet in front of him, and Harry glared at it, building his anger back into a protective shield. This thing had held him while others made him scream, it had witnessed too much to survive, and his voice torn into a snarl of defiance, Harry cast, "Incendio!"

One corner of the massive table burst into flame and Harry took a step backwards, dropping his wand as he did so. This is how he had been broken, it didn't matter that the flames had been in his head, they had been real enough, and now his inanimate captor would face a very real fate. Harry didn't need spells, this was raw emotion, and raw magic made more sense, so he held out his hands to the table and pushed the fire. It swept across the table top, and the flames leapt a foot in the air under Harry's direction. Then he pulled the licks of orange and gold down the heavy legs of the cruel furniture and under its main surface, making sure every inch of his enemy was covered in purifying flames. Then Harry watched, wary of the fire, but fascinated by what he had made it do. The table was engulfed in flames. Yet, the furniture was old and heavy and thick, and the fire only slowly blackened its rough surface, beginning to eat at the fabric below, but it was too slow for Harry's emotions. The hatred slipped again, letting through emotions which left him far more vulnerable, and Harry couldn't allow that: with a yell, Harry turned from the table and threw magic in a random direction, any direction, he didn't care, he knew he'd hit something horrible.

The ripping sound as leather split from leather spoke to a tearing inside his soul, and Harry gritted his teeth as his violence conjured the memories of his degradation. He needed to beat those memories, and desperately, Harry launched the instincts inside his soul at a knife which had never been off the wall as long as he had been in the chamber. The blade melted like it was made of butter, dripping into a pool at the foot of the wall. Harry watched it, his eyes stinging, as the molten metal oozed into the grooves of the flagstones. Then he winced and turned away as the fluid brought back thoughts of a time when Lucius had dripped boiling oil from the tip of his wand onto Harry's stomach.

Harry recovered himself and waved both his hands together and then in a wide arc at a copper urn which was sat in one corner. He didn't know what it contained, but he was momentarily satisfied as it exploded. Yet the ring of metal dragged up memories of his own scream ringing in his ears, and Harry was forced to cover that echo with the eradication of a bone-crushing hammer. That made his legs go weak as he remembered the splintering blows that had broken ankles, knees, wrists, and fingers one by one at his tormentor's will. Harry fought against the sickness in the pit of his stomach by setting another fire; his aim was off, and instead of a wooden stool, the magic hit thumbscrews which were hanging on the wall beside it. Harry had never seen metal burn before, but his intensity conjured destructive flame which licked over the steel, and for a moment, the young man watched, fascinated by the unnatural dance. Yet, Lucius' sneering face disturbed his reverie, and desperately, Harry threw another curse. More and more memories closed in on him, and helpless, Harry knew that he could not throw enough spells to keep up. Still he kept on going, he had to beat the soul-destroying weakness that was cutting at his insides, there had to be a way of wiping it all away, making it stop, even if he had to bring the roof down.

Harry's madness took over: he screamed the name of his tormentors as their faces appeared in his mind's eye. Only he couldn't destroy them, they just kept coming back. Hysteria was an unforgiving companion, and even the young wizard's magic began to fail him as his intentions came out wrong, but he kept throwing the power, even more desperate to eradicate the pain. Harry knew his sanity was slipping away. His barriers were failing, the strength that had kept him going to fight another fight was all used up in the face of peace. He would go mad here after all, Voldemort had won at last. That knowledge came out in one long scream and the torturer's victim held his trembling arms up to his defeat.

Yet suddenly there were arms around his waist, and a chest pressed close to his back. Draco's heartfelt tones whispered in his ear, "I am so sorry, Harry-Love."

The lost man collapsed into the offered strength that broke into his mad little world. The pair sank to the floor as one. Harry's head lolled back onto his anchor, and he let out a sob. His grief was far deeper than his anger, and in the arms of his lover, Harry allowed him self to succumb to that sorrow, shaking with it. Draco held on to him firmly, resting him against his chest, absorbing the pain that came out of Harry in howls.

Without his anger to protect him, the helpless young man cried uncontrollably, his emotion drowning him in waves. He sobbed for the horrors he had experienced here, for the agonies and the mental torment, but also he wept for the damage which had been done to his associations with his one-time home. Harry recalled his defiant words to his captors, his assurance that nothing could sully the memory of this grand place, and yet their actions had irreparably altered his connection with the chamber. Where there had once been warm thoughts of childhood adventures, now memories of his own screams came first. The camaraderie of his school friends had been replaced by the cruelty of his captors. No amount of spells could remove the way in which Gryffindor Tower had been spoiled for him, and Harry grieved for it like an old friend.

Harry clung to his rock, needing the comfort that Draco offered, using it to stop the tide of emotion from washing away his sanity. His partner wrapped the shuddering wreck in his arms, and Harry could do nothing but lean there, both mentally and physically. The violence of his feelings ripped away any barriers the he had erected over the passing weeks; his defiance was gone, his anger was lost in the anguish of what his tormentors had accomplished, and only his lover lay between him and madness. The hold around him was strong, in his body and his mind and his magic: he was linked to Draco in ways they had yet to understand, but even in mystery, those links gave Harry the freedom to surrender to his emotions, knowing that he had an anchor.

Time didn't matter, the horror and misery lasted as long as Harry had energy, pouring from him and cleansing his psyche. Denial and the need to keep going had kept this away too long, and the young man was exhausted as the final eddies of emotion ran through his shivering body. His voice ran out, his tears dried up, leaving his eyes hot and stinging, and Harry choked his last few sobs into silence. Only then did the drained form close his eyes, and he relaxed into the comfort still being unconditionally offered, resting his head against Draco's chin. The couple remained in silence, Draco undemanding, and Harry embracing a numbness that settled on him after the onslaught.

At last, in the quiet, Harry's mind began to move again, and gradually, so did he; he took in a deep breath, lifted his head and opened his eyes. Draco's hold had softened in the stillness, but it tightened protectively as Harry shifted a little, and Harry ran an appreciative palm over the arm which crossed his chest. He wasn't ready to give up that immediate protection yet, and his lover knew it. Yet Draco revealed there was something he wanted to do, when he moved them both gently to free his other hand. The palm ran over the back of Harry's hand, and he gladly accepted fingers which entwined with his own. Harry followed the line of the limbs as Draco gently stretched them out before him, and tensed as his eyes came to rest on the result of his most destructive urge. The old table still burnt brightly, its struts now black, but thick enough to withstand the intense heat for a long time. Yet, he felt the power come through Draco, and his own joined with it, confused at first, but then beginning to make sense as, under the silent command, the enraged flames began to recede. The magic ran through him like water, calming wherever it flowed, and in tandem with it, the apprehension in Harry's body began to release. He took a deep breath and forced away a sigh which threatened as his soul suggested there was more pain to come. Yet, as the quiet spell finished, all that was left of the table was a pitiful, charred carcass, no threat at all, and so it was with his emotion; he had faced the well of regret and anger, and it had run its course. What was left was manageable now, and he put it back where it belonged, inside for another time.

Feeling safer, and saner, slowly, Harry moved to sit up. Draco seemed reluctant to let him go. His lover's muscles locked for a moment against the change in position. Yet Harry unwound his fingers and rubbed Draco's arm again, understanding, but needing to move on, and his partner capitulated. Draco's touch remained supportively on Harry as he shifted around to look at his companion.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice thin from the crying, and he met the silvery-blue gaze.

Draco's eyes were damp too, but no tears were flowing, and they held a strength Harry needed. Draco's own pain: five years of constant threat; the darkness that surrounded the Midnight Oil ceremony; the pain of losing a father; all of it sat at the back of his lover's gaze, mixed with the guilt Draco had already expressed. Harry wanted to reach for those emotions there and then and destroy them. Yet, he could see they were already in a safe place, separated from the everyday, also to be dealt with at another time.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked quietly, wiping hair off Harry's damp face.

"I will be," Harry reassured honestly, "but it's going to take a long time."

Draco looked momentarily surprised by the admission of weakness, but then it kindled hope in the deep eyes that looked into Harry's soul.

"I need the sabbatical, don't I?" Harry continued, holding back another sigh and facing the future properly for the first time.

Draco nodded, there wasn't really need for anything else.

"Moment by moment's over," Harry continued, confirming what his heart already knew.

He was sorry for that, the intensity of those many short periods had fed his soul in a way he would never forget. They had shown him how to let go and love despite inhibitions, or what the rest of the world thought. They had given him strength to move between each of them, taking one day at a time, doing what had to be done. Yet now the future lay ahead and as it opened up possibilities, it also laid responsibilities and consequences in front of Harry: he was indeed broken, a toy chewed and spat out by a madman, but that damage was not irreparable. Harry felt stronger as he looked ahead.

"What if I don't want to go back after a year?" he embraced that future and the doubts that came with it.

"Would that be so terrible?" Draco answered with his own question, and there was a sad smile on his face.

Being an Auror was all that Harry had ever wanted. He was a hero, a born fighter, the Boy Who Lived, destined to kill Voldemort or die in the process. What came afterwards had never entered his thoughts, and he admitted openly, "It's difficult to let it go. I haven't even dealt with the magic thing, I've just been waiting for it to settle down."

"We can start training today, you had all sorts of brilliant ideas we can now apply to you as well as me. And from there on, we take it one year at a time," his partner revealed his Slytherin logic. "That we can manage, and then you can decide about remaining an Auror or not closer to the time."

Harry smiled and stroked his lover's shoulder as he commented, "You're always going to be ten steps ahead of me, aren't you?"

Draco raised an eyebrow and quipped, "Of course, you're a Gryffindor, I'm a Slytherin, you can't possibly hope to keep up with my cognitive abilities."

Harry let out a gentle chuckle: it did not last long, but it expressed all he wanted to say about the supposed superiority of the Slytherin brain.

"You might have to get used to explaining more than you're used to," Harry admitted.

That truth inspired a look that Harry didn't immediately understand. Until Draco clarified, "I've been too many steps ahead lately, haven't I? Gringotts, I mean."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you about that, it was unfair," Harry did some apologising of his own.

"But you were right, it was about my mother," Draco quickly responded, looking away and then swiftly back up again. "I didn't want her thrown in jail or losing the Manor, so I acted quickly, and I left you behind."

"What is it about normality that makes us both clam up?" Harry asked the question.

Yet he didn't want an answer, and as the couple shared a weary moment, they both understood. Their bond, which had been forged in the most horrific of adversity, had to change now, to move on, and they would face what darkness was left between them in the leisure of the safe time that stretched ahead. The worst was behind, and, as he used his love for his partner to settle what was left of his thoughts, Harry knew he would go to any lengths to protect Draco from anything like it again. They shared a terrible knowledge of man's depravity, of his wont for power and his sheer ability to do harm; alone they would have fallen to it, but together it had made them strong. Together life could now move beyond mere survival.

Harry lost himself in Draco's gaze, expressing what he did not need to say in words with his own open stare. He loved this man, beyond the connection they had made in captivity, beyond the moment by moment life, and he wanted to seal the changes that were arranging themselves in his mind. His partner's smile welcomed him, and gradually, Harry leant forward. He found his lover's mouth easily; he closed his eyes as Draco's breath touched the sensitive skin of his lips and let a tiny shiver of delight run down his spine. Then they touched, and Draco revealed his own need for union as he pushed back without reservation.

Harry slipped his palms over his companion's chest and under his arms, and pulled him hungrily closer. Draco instantly shifted his weight and the couple moulded to the kiss. Yet their movements were leisurely, they knew each other well now, and a mutual wont to prolong the experience tempered any haste. His lover's tender fingers ran into Harry's thick hair, and with them warmth flowed back into his soul. He let Draco gently tip his head and he parted his lips as a testing stroke of tongue asked him for more. The young man felt the smile on his partner's lips grow as he opened to the caress, and he found a joyous laugh in his own throat.

This was not a stolen moment anymore. Life could look beyond the horizon, make plans, feel safe. The war was over and Light magic was returning to power. And above it all, Harry Potter knew that no matter what he had to face, nightmares, errant magic, or self-doubt, he would never be alone again. Harry let his powers run free, close to Draco and knowing that, unconditionally, he was loved.


End file.
